


And The World Was New

by captaincharming



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 40,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincharming/pseuds/captaincharming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian’s band performs at David’s favorite coffee shop and David can’t keep his eyes to himself. </p><p>Or...</p><p>How gorgeous, infuriating musician Killian turned beautiful, stuck-in-his-ways David's world upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work based on this gifset: http://hookedoncharming.tumblr.com/post/72041773067/captain-charming-au-killians-band-performs-at
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction, but this pairing won't leave me alone. So I hope you enjoy!

  _And The World Was New_  


David wouldn’t say he was a creature of habit.  
   
   
Well, maybe a little.  
   
   
 But he definitely wouldn’t describe himself, as his exes often did, as “boring” or “stuck in his ways”.   
   
   
Just because a man prefers his days to follow a certain pattern (up at 5:30, go for a run, shower, get coffee at his favorite shop, at work by 8, home by 6, dinner, Sportscenter, read for a bit, lights out by 11), doesn’t make him mundane.  
   
   
But it does make him predictable.  
   
   
Which is why, on any given Saturday around 9 a.m., David finds himself reading at the same table in the same corner of the same coffee shop he’s visited countless times before (or just about every morning). He sometimes considers finding a new shop to haunt, or even making a pot at home, but always ends right back up at Java the Hut.  
   
   
Aside from the appeal the name lends the place, David likes it because it’s quiet. It’s never as crowded as Starbucks; there are no obnoxious teenagers Instagramming their lattes or chatty moms who fail to keep an eye on their wandering children. Most days it’s just David and the baristas hanging around.  
   
   
And David loves them. Ruby and Mary Margaret have been working at the Hut for as long as he has been coming in.  
   
   
Both girls are younger, in their mid-20’s (close to David’s own age of 27), and both are extremely fond of David. One of them always has his usual order (large regular, no cream, two sugars, and no fancy crap) ready before he’s even completely through the door.  
   
   
Although he rarely sees them outside of the shop, David considers Ruby and Mary Margaret to be his friends, and they clearly feel the same about him.  
   
   
Ruby treats him like an older brother, joking and teasing and annoying him to no end. She pesters him about everything under the sun, much like a baby sister, and David protects her from the occasional over-zealous male patron, fulfilling his role as pseudo big brother.  
   
   
David and Mary Margaret’s relationship is a bit more complicated, though no less genuine. He has brotherly feelings toward her as well, though he doesn’t think the sentiment is returned.   
   
   
David suspects that Mary Margaret has feelings for him that extend beyond close friendship, but he has no plans (or desire) to reciprocate.  
   
   
It’s not that Mary Margaret is unattractive or in any way unappealing. Not at all. But David doesn’t have time for relationships. Nor does he have a desire to fit one into his life.   
   
   
At least that's what he tells himself.   
   
   
His excuses for avoiding romantic entanglements are ready made and always extremely convenient.   
   
   
His job at the animal shelter consumes most of his time. It is his passion, his reason for waking up in the morning. Some might even call it an obsession.  
   
   
Even when he’s not working, David is usually thinking about work. Did he order enough food for the week? How many vet appointments are scheduled tomorrow? How are the people who took home the Labrador last week doing?  
   
   
David typically found himself scrambling for the phone or his notes and receipts when questions like these came up. Often at all hours of the night. He spent more time at the shelter than he did his own apartment.    
   
   
His obsession with the shelter (and his strict routine) had always been a major hurdle in past relationships, and it wasn't likely to get any better now that he was part owner.   
   
   
In the five years that he had been working there, David's only steady relationship had been with this dinky, hole-in-the-wall coffee shop and its baristas.  
   
   
And he was perfectly okay with that. 


	2. Chapter 2

Killian Jones wouldn't say he was completely reckless.   
   
   
He would describe himself, as his exes often did, as "shameless" and "an utter twat".   
   
   
Sometimes, that is.   
   
   
Just because a man tends to play fast and loose in every aspect of his life (relationships, school, jobs) doesn't necessarily mean that that's  _all_  there is to him.   
   
   
But it does indicate that it's a lot of what there is to him.   
   
   
That's why, on any given day, no one can be sure of exactly where Killian is or what he's doing there.   
   
   
He's sabotaged more relationships than he can count because he often neglects to let his significant other know what he's up to. Or even where he is for days (sometimes weeks) at a time.   
   
   
He failed out of college because he couldn't be bothered to attend class. How could he be expected to, with so much partying and hanging and living going on around him? Dusty classrooms couldn’t offer him the same thrills as a late night barhop with his mates.   
   
   
He's lost countless jobs because he just decides he doesn't feel like showing up some days. The monotony of the same damn thing, day after day, always drove Killian insane.   
   
   
But his music is something Killian would never neglect, or skip out on, or refuse to own up to. In fact, playing the local dives with his band on Saturday night is the only place he is guaranteed to be every single time it's expected of him.   
   
   
Killian likes music because it's a validation of his talents.   
   
   
When he puts his affinity for words to use in writing lyrics, he's no longer the smartass with the sharp tongue. He's "articulate" and "clever".   
   
   
Killian's band mates love to tease him over the ways girls gush about his musical prowess. And Killian lets them, because those three guys are his only true friends in the world.   
   
   
William Smee (known only by Smee), is Killian's right hand man. If Killian is the captain, Smee is the first mate. Their history is long and storied, but Killian knows Smee would die for him, if need be. And while Killian certainly doesn't have a death wish, he would quite be willing to kill on Smee's behalf.   
   
   
Graham Humbert is somewhat of the older brother of the group. While not entirely moral himself, he keeps the other lads from getting into too much trouble. Killian's always felt that Graham seemed a bit lost, which is why he feels such a connection to him. Kindred spirits and all.   
   
   
August Booth is the last member of their tightknit group. Perhaps the wildest of them all, August uses the band as a grounding point; a reason to come home from whatever situation he found himself in last night. Killian knows he wouldn't have gotten into half the shit and scrapes he had without August. Which is why he loves him. "He keeps me young." Killian always insists adamantly when anyone questions his and August's relationship.   
   
   
Killian often found himself stumbling home at all hours of the night after being out with his fellow "lost boys". His singular devotion to his band and their music, the inability to focus on or dedicate to anything else, was  ~~probably~~  definitely the reason he came home to an empty apartment.   
   
   
And he was perfectly okay with that. 


	3. Chapter 3

David breathes a sigh of relief when he walks into the Hut one Saturday morning in mid-September. There are no other patrons inside, for which he is glad. It means he can finally finish this book he's been working on for weeks.   
   
   
Not that the Hut was ever particularly crowded. Its lack of traffic wasn't surprising, given its off the beaten path location, but David still worried that the shortage of paying customers may someday force his favorite place (besides the shelter) to close.   
   
   
Ruby always assures him that her grandmother (fondly dubbed Granny by all who know her) would never close the Hut if she could help it, so David chooses to enjoy the emptiness rather than fret over it.   
   
   
Today however, the Hut is alarmingly bereft. Not only are there no other customers, there isn’t any staff to be found either.   
   
   
David's two favorite brunettes are nowhere in sight.   
   
   
"Ruby? Mary Margaret? Anyone home? My coffee isn't waiting for me!" he calls out, half joking.   
   
   
"Hold your horses, we're busy!" comes Ruby's obnoxious holler from the back room, followed by Mary Margaret's soothing, "Just one moment, David!"  
                                                                                                             
   
David shakes his head, an amused smile on his face, and pulls out one of the colorfully painted stools at the counter. He usually grabs his coffee and heads for his favorite table in the back corner, but he supposes he can read anywhere. Perhaps a change of pace is warranted anyway. And the counter  _is_ at the perfect height to prop his elbows on, a move that would have earned him a slap to the head as a child. David grins, reveling in his tiny act of rebellion.   
   
   
David has barely opened his book to the dog-earred page he'd left off on before Mary Margaret comes bustling out of the curtain that leads to the office and storage room, a stack of papers in her arms. She lays them on the back counter.   
   
   
"I'm so sorry David, Ruby and I got caught up in a project and didn't realize it had gotten to be your arrival time," she says somewhat breathlessly, brushing her short hair out of her face as she immediately begins fixing his usual order. "Oh David," she adds, glancing at the book in his hands, "you really shouldn't bend the pages like that. Would you like me to find you a bookmark?"  
   
   
David smiles. His mother had always nagged him about that habit as well. And had given him countless bookmarks over the years, which he inevitably lost.   
   
   
"No thanks, Mary. This works just fine." He lays the book on the counter, still dog-earred to the same page. "And no need to apologize. It's not like I'm your most loyal customer or anything," he jokes, causing Mary Margaret to laugh.   
   
   
David hooks the heels of his boots on the rungs of the stool and watches Mary Margaret as she adds sugar to his coffee and absentmindedly stirs while reading over the papers laying on the counter.  
   
   
"So what are you and Ruby up to that has you so distracted?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.  
   
   
"Oh David, it's so exciting!" Mary Margaret gushes as she sits his coffee down to his right with a thunk. She quickly turns back to her stack of papers, pulling a sheet out and laying it in front of David.   
   
   
David leans over the paper, which appears to be several different renderings of the phrase "Saturdays at the Hut" written in various fonts.   
   
   
He glances up at Mary Margaret to find her very close to his face, beaming back at him, her green eyes sparkling. He leans back slightly, not quite comfortable with the closeness.  
   
   
"Sooo, what does this mean?" he prompts after a couple beats, when it becomes apparent she isn't going to offer any details.   
   
   
"Oh! Right. I forget sometimes that you can't hear what's going on in my head." Mary Margaret takes a deep breath before she begins to explain to David, very quickly, the idea she and Ruby had.   
   
   
"You see, Ruby and her granny are concerned about the lack of customers. I know you’ve noticed it’s pretty desolate here, David. And Granny always says that she’ll never close if she can help it, but I’m not sure how much longer things can continue this way.” She gives David a sad smile. “At this point, you’re basically the only reason this place stays open. And I don’t know what I’ll do if it ever closes.”   
   
   
David starts to interrupt her, “Mary Margaret, if you or Ruby ever need help paying-“  
   
   
But she shakes her head insistently, causing her dangling earrings to sway rapidly. “Oh no David, that’s not what I meant! You’re so sweet to offer, but I think Ruby and I have come up with the perfect solution.”  
   
   
David frowns, still concerned for the girls’ wellbeing, but allows Mary Margaret to continue.  
   
   
 “Ruby suggested that we create a draw, something to bring folks in. And it reminded me of the coffee shops I used to visit in college. They always had local artists in performing, playing music or reciting poetry. The students would flock to whichever shop was hosting the more popular acts," she pauses to smile shyly at David, "and I thought it would be a wonderful idea to do the same thing here!"  
   
   
David raises his eyebrows. "Wait, bring people in here? To play music? On Saturdays?" he asks, incredulous.  
   
   
Mary Margaret nods quickly. "Yes! Doesn't that sound wonderful? People can come in, eat, drink and listen to local artists! It's great for the community as a whole, don't you think? It benefits the Hut, the artists, and the townsfolk!"   
   
   
David swallows, unsure of how to respond to Mary Margaret's enthusiasm. She's obviously eager for his approval, and he doesn't want to hurt her feelings over something she's so clearly excited for, but he thinks the idea sounds terrible.   
   
   
It’s not that he doesn’t want the shop to do well, or that he necessarily minds other customers, as long as they mind their own business. But he doesn't come to the Hut to socialize, and he’s definitely not eager to have his quiet reading sessions interrupted by some douchey hipster wannabe with a guitar and a scruffy beard.   
   
   
Mary Margaret is still gazing at him expectantly, but David is thankfully saved from having to respond by Ruby's sudden appearance through the curtain.   
   
   
"Mary!" she says loudly, "I think I've got the perfect design for the flyer!" Waving a sheet of paper in the air, Ruby rushes over to Mary Margaret, her long brown hair whipping out behind her. She casts a cursory glance at David and mutters a quick "morning David" before she and Mary Margaret bend over the proposed flyer and begin chatting animatedly.   
   
   
Relieved at being excluded from the disconcerting conversation, David gathers up his book and coffee and heads for his table. He sighs as he starts back in on his novel, wondering bitterly if this will be his last such sojourn at the Hut.  
   
   
“I hear you sighing over there, David!” Ruby calls out, never turning around. “Don’t even start. This is going to be so fun! You’ll see.”  
   
   
“Oh yeah,” David calls back, not without a hint of sarcasm. “Heaps of fun, I’m sure.”  
   
   
Turning back to his book, David sighs again, albeit quieter this time.   
   
   
"Fucking hipsters," he grumbles to himself. "They've ruined coffee shops for the rest of us."


	4. Chapter 4

Killian blows out a breath, disappointed by the meager crowd at the Apollo. This is the second of four straight Saturdays that his band is playing the bar, and so far the turnout has been less than ideal. “Bloody hell, is it too much to ask for a decent group of lushes?” he mumbles to himself, petulantly. He can’t see how the place even manages to stay open, if this is a typical Saturday crowd.

   
Shaking his head in disappointment, he turns to head through the door behind the tiny stage, which leads to an even smaller ready room for the musicians. His band mates are sprawled about, having a drink and laugh. They have about a half hour before they go on; plenty of time to get just trashed enough to not mind the sparse audience.  
  

“Hey mates. What’re we drinking, and more importantly, where’s mine?” Killian greets his band with his patented grin, though tonight it feels a bit forced.  
  

“’Bout time you turned up, Killy. What kept you?” August passes him a flask of something as he speaks, “Or should I say  _who_ kept you?” The rest of the band laughs, and Killian inclines his head with a feigned sheepish smile.

   
“You know I consider myself an honorable man. And an honorable man is discrete about the company he keeps.” Killian takes a pull from the flask, making a face before handing it back to August. Captain Morgan. He had been hoping for Contessa, but supposed anything would do in a pinch. Rum is rum.  
  

Graham moves down along the couch he’s occupying, making room for Killian to flop down beside him. Graham nudges Killian’s knee with his own before asking “So, how’s the crowd looking out there? Pretty bleak when I came in.”

   
Killian nods, taking Graham’s own flask of rum and swallowing another hearty mouthful. “Much the same, I suppose. Maybe 15 people out there.”   
  

August groans. “I’m tired of this shit. Can’t we get a gig somewhere that isn’t the place good bands go to die? These people don’t give a fuck about our music. We consider it a good night when someone  _acknowledges_ that we’re onstage.”

   
Killian sighs. Sometimes he resents being the unofficial leader of the band. It’s all shits and giggles when he has pick of the girls (and some guys) that gravitate towards him after a gig, but it’s less amusing when his band mates expect him to solve the problem of their lack of big breaks.  
  

“Look, I’ve already told you. I took this gig because it was money in the bank. You remember money, don’t you? It’s how I keep you boozers in supply of substandard rum.” Killian smiles to soften his words, but the sentiment remains. 

   
August opens his mouth as if to argue, but Smee beats him to it. “You know, I saw something today that might be just what we need. Hang on a second.”  
  

He stands and walks across the room, adjusting his ever-present red beanie over his unkempt hair as he goes.   
  

 _I hate that fucking hat,_ Killian thinks as he watches Smee rifle through the ungodly amount of pockets in the trench coat he left hanging by the door. One of these days Killian would find a means to dispose of that hat. Perhaps he could convince one of the girls (groupies, as Graham sarcastically refers to them) who sometimes follow the band around to snatch it for him.   
  

“Oi, we haven’t got all day mate,” Killian calls to Smee once he’s been at it for far longer than seems prudent. “We’re on in 10.” Smee flips him off as he unhelpfully adds, “Tick tock.”   
  

“I couldn’t remember which pocket I shoved it in, jeez. But I’ve got it.” Smee hands an extremely crumpled flyer to Killian, who smoothes it out across the table in front of him. His three band mates gather around to peer at it over Killian’s shoulder.

   
 _“Saturdays at the Hut”_ the top of flyer proclaims in cheerful, swirly script. Beneath the header are instructions for local acts to sign up and a brief description of events this coffee shop is apparently dubbing “community gatherings” and “wholesome entertainment”.

   
Killian snorts derisively. “Wholesome entertainment? I don’t know where you’re getting your information Smee, but the last time I checked, that ain’t us,” he says, gesturing around at the four (semi) wasted musicians, and the dingy ready room in the back of a seedy bar. What was Smee playing at anyway?  
  

Smee rolls his eyes. “We could clean it up for an afternoon, Killian,” he says in the condescending tone Kilian despises. It causes him to grit his teeth and glare at Smee. “Think about it,” Smee continues, unperturbed by Killian’s glower, looking around at the band, “who hangs out in coffee shops? Young people. What type of crowd are we looking to appeal to? Young people. How do you gain a following? Play good gigs at small venues, such as a coffee shop.” Smee waves his hands dramatically as he finishes with “It’s the perfect fit!”  
  

Killian bites his lip as he leans back against the couch, considering. The other three stare at him expectantly, awaiting a decision.  
   
   
It  _does_ seem perfect, he supposes. At least the people there would be sober. Killian can’t remember the last time they’d played to a sober crowd. He furrows his brow, trying to see a downside to the idea. But there doesn’t seem to be one.  
  

Finally, a slow smile crawls its way across Killian’s face. “Aye,” he says, picking up the flask of rum and holding it out for a toast. “The perfect fit. I’ll drink to that!”  
  

The others laugh as they hold out their own drinks, and Killian drains the flask before standing and clapping Smee on the shoulder.  
  

“How did you find out about this thing, Smee?” he asks, picking up the flyer to look up the name of the shop. “I’ve never even heard of this place.”  
  

Inexplicably, Smee flushes almost as red as his (goddamn) hat. “Just…from this girl who works there that I’m maybe hanging out with,” he shrugs slightly. “No biggie,” he adds, quite unconvincingly.   
  

Killian grins again. Interesting. No way was he letting Smee off the hook that easily. “We’ll see about that,” he says, heading for the stage as the bartender welcomes the Jolly Roger to the stage. He laughs loudly as Smee’s sputtered protests follow him out the door. 


	5. Chapter 5

Determined to make the most out of the times the Hut isn’t filled to the brim with noisy customers and even noisier performers, David finds himself spending more time than usual at the coffee shop the week before the first “Saturday at the Hut”. If he isn’t at the shelter, he’s at the Hut.

 

Not that it’s much of a departure from his usual routine, but David reasons that it makes his visits a little more intentional, rather than something that just seems to happen on its own.

 

Unfortunately, David was unaware of the confusion (and false sense of hope) his increased visits brought to one of the Hut’s employees.

 

When he comes in on Saturdays, David spends the majority of his time at the Hut reading and the rest catching up with Ruby. She tells him about her classes at the local community college while he keeps her abreast of the shelter animals’ wellbeing. She halfheartedly tries to set him up with her friends while he half-jokingly threatens whichever boy she’s currently interested in. She pushes him to try the new drink she’d concocted while he steadfastly sticks to his usual. Their relationship is easy and relaxed, built on a foundation of mutual teasing and pestering.

 

David’s relationship with Mary Margaret is more complicated. They always exchange pleasantries, and David politely asks about Mary’s novel that she has been working on for as long as he’s known her. But their conversations are never as easy as those David enjoys with Ruby, and he often finds himself at a loss of what to say to Mary Margaret.

 

He suspects his awkwardness stems from his awareness of Mary Margaret’s slightly more than friendly feelings toward him.

 

David is no idiot. Though he isn’t sure precisely when he became aware of her feelings, he supposes it has just dawned on him over time. The way her gaze lingers when she thinks he isn’t looking; the light touches to his arm when she refills his coffee, the breathy quality her voice adopts whenever she speaks to him.

 

While David supposes he’s flattered by Mary Margaret’s attentions, he mostly feels guilty that he will never feel the same way for her.

 

She is beautiful, sure, and David genuinely enjoys her company. She’s bright, with well-voiced ideas and a quick wit. But David appreciates these things in a clinical sort of way, rather than out of any sort of vested interest. And Mary Margaret deserves so much more.

 

David decided long ago that he was most suited to the single way of life. He doesn’t have to worry about making adjustments in his life to suit someone else. He can stick to his routine without variation, dedicate his life to the animals at his shelter, and never worry that he is inadvertently neglecting his significant other in the process.

 

His apparent refusal to bend (or stubborn assery, as it had been described by one of his more colorful exes) has been the cause of the demise of all (three) of his relationships in the past. David always assumed that when someone came along that he felt was worth budging for, he would budge.

 

Years went by and that person never showed. So David had plowed on in his determination to live out his life as a bachelor.

 

It seems that Mary Margaret hasn’t gotten that particular memo, however.

 

On Wednesday of the “Final Countdown”, as David had dubbed the week before his beloved coffee shop was invaded by pretentious hippies, it was just David and Mary Margaret in the shop. Ruby had a Wednesday morning class (“At EIGHT a.m. David, can you imagine??”) and wouldn’t be around until long after David had headed on to work.

 

They’ve mostly been sharing the space in comfortable silenece. Mary is working on more flyers for the (dreaded) upcoming Saturday event, and David is resolutely plowing through _Men Without Women_ (which he’ll soon find ironic). He’s determined to read every “classic” novel that’s ever appeared on a must-read list.

 

Which is why these Saturday shows are so annoying. It’s the one day a week he can fully dedicate himself to his quest, and now they’re going to be ruined. He pushes those thoughts from his mind, refusing to wallow. For now.

 

He glances up with a half smile as Mary Margaret brings him his third coffee of the morning, and then hovers awkwardly by the table for a beat longer than usual.

 

David’s smile turns questioning as she continues to stand there, fidgeting slightly.

 

She quirks a quick smile back, then draws a deep breath before asking, “May I sit down, David?”

 

David blinks in surprise, but acquiesces hurriedly. “Of course you can! What’s up?”

 

Mary Margaret folds her hands neatly in front of her on the table and David is struck, as he often is, by the almost regal way she conducts herself. Always proper, Mary Margaret.

 

She takes another breath, this one slightly less steady. “I was wondering if I could ask you something, David.”

 

“Shoot!” David agrees readily. He sees her slight smile at his slang phrasing before a serious look returns to her face. She stays quiet, however, staring at her clasped hands.

 

“Mary Margaret?” David prompts gently. “You’re kinda worrying me here.”

 

She laughs lightly, seeming to shake herself out of the funk she was in.

 

“I’m sorry. I’ve just been trying to decide how I want to phrase this and I still haven’t quite made up my mind,” she says uncertainly. “I guess I’ll just go for it?”

 

David suddenly feels oddly apprehensive, but he nods encouragingly.

 

Mary Margaret smiles again, more confidently, and says, “David, we’ve known each other for a long time. And I don’t think you are unaware that in that time, I’ve grown…fond of you.” She looks him in the eye for the first time since she sat down and continues, “And I also think that maybe you might feel a certain fondness for me too?”

 

David opens his mouth, more in surprise than with intention to say anything, but Mary Margaret rushes ahead before he could even if he wanted to.

 

“It’s just, you come in here so often David. And I used to think that perhaps it was for Ruby, since the two of you spend so much time together. But the more I watched you with her, I realized that you don’t care for her in that way. So I just assumed you were here for the coffee.” She smiles wryly then, before continuing. “But we both know that isn’t true. You could get the stuff you order anywhere. I was determined to find any excuse other than that you had feelings for me, but the longer you come in the more I can’t seem to convince myself otherwise. So I was wondering, instead of continuing to play this coy game, if you maybe wanted to get dinner sometime?”

 

She finishes her speech with a nervous bite to her lower lip, wide-eyed and uncertain.

 

And David is so utterly fucked.

 

This was something he had hoped to avoid, possibly forever. But apparently ignoring a situation doesn’t cause it to go away. It causes it to grow feelings and cast aspirations and break your heart with its earnestness, knowing that you have to crush this beautiful person sitting across from you.

 

David realizes he’s been sitting in stunned silence for far too long. He looks at Mary Margaret in time to see the hurt blooming in her eyes. She drops them to the table, avoiding his gaze.

 

“Mary Margaret,” he says desperately, reaching across the table for her hand. She allows him to hold it, but the guarded expression never leaves her face. David takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the confession he’d hoped to never have to make.

 

“Mary Margaret,” he says again, holding her hand tightly. “You’re not wrong. I DO care for you, very much.” Her eyes flick up to his, and David smiles sadly. “I care for you, but not in the way I think you care for me. Not the way you want me to.”

 

He sighs explosively, trying to get his words out right. “It’s not that I haven’t thought about it; you and me. I have, often. And it’s not that it wouldn’t be easy to care for you. It would. But it would also be selfish of me.”

 

Mary Margaret looks at him again, confused tears swimming in her eyes. “Why?” she breathes quietly.

 

David shakes his head, unsure of how to put it. “Because…because I’m selfish. I’m stubborn and rigid and unwillingly to let anyone in. And it wouldn’t be fair to you, to act on your feelings and then hurt you when I can’t be who you want me to be.”

 

It’s Mary Margaret’s turn to shake her head as she says, “But, if you know this about yourself, it’s something you can work to change!”

 

“It’s not something I want to change, honey. It’s a problem I run into in all my relationships. I like my life, my routine. I don’t want to let someone interrupt that,” he smiles again, regretfully. “Even someone as wonderful as you.”

 

Mary Margaret nods, too quickly, before withdrawing her hand from David’s grasp. She reaches for his napkin and dabs gently at her eyes. She draws another shaky breath before offering him a watery smile. He smiles back, tentatively as she says, “But if you ever do want to be interrupted, you know where to find me?”

 

David doesn’t want to correct her assumptions again, so he just smiles and says, “Of course.”

 

Mary Margaret stands suddenly, laying a hand on David’s shoulder before turning away. “You need to get going David, you’ll be late for work.”

 

He nods, rising to his feet as well and wrapping Mary Margaret in a hug from behind. “You’re something else, you know that right?” He feels so guilty for hurting her, but also strangely relieved the finally have this issue out of the way. He’s been sidestepping it for years, and it had always made him anxious.

 

Mary laughs, pushing him away and towards the door. “Get out of here.” As he heads out she calls, “Oh! And David?” He turns back, head cocked in inquiry. Mary Margaret smiles and says “Don’t even think about staying away tomorrow.”

 

David grins cheekily. “Like you could get rid of me that easily.” He closes the door on her bright laugh and starts down the street towards the shelter.

 

 _Crisis averted_ , he thinks, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. _David Nolan successfully sidesteps another relationship._

 

Instead of the expected relief, David suddenly feels very alone.


	6. Chapter 6

Determined to make the most of his band’s stint at the Apollo, Killian finds himself spending most nights at the bar, even when they don’t have a gig.  _For marketing purposes,_ he always assures himself.  
   
   
It’s a pattern he’s fallen into in the past few years; every time the band is set to play a venue, Killian frequents the place in the days beforehand. Drumming up business, as it were. He flirts with the staff in order to secure free booze for the band the night of the show, he flirts with the patrons to encourage them to come see him play, he basically flirts with anyone in sight.  
   
   
Killian is no idiot. He knows how his flagrant behavior makes him look. He just doesn’t care. The people he dates usually care though, which is why he never dates anyone for long. After all, it’s not his fault he’s naturally charming. And devilishly handsome.  
   
   
Killian decided long ago that he was most suited to the single way of life. That’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy a little company, but a full-blown relationship is always obnoxiously cloying. In a relationship, Killian can never behave as he pleases. Apparently lovers mind when you are out with mates until all hours of the night, almost every night.  
   
   
His refusal to rein himself in had been the demise of all of his (countless) relationships in the past. Killian had always been told that when someone came along who made him want to settle down, he would.  
   
   
Years rolled on and Killian never met anyone he had even remotely considered changing for. So he continued in his brazen ways.  
   
   
Though sometimes, he decides it might be nice to go out without feeling compelled to chat up anything with a pulse.  
   
   
On Wednesday of the week his band is scheduled to play the coffee shop gig, he visits the Apollo with the intention of having a drink (or five) and nothing more.  
   
   
It seems that one particularly eager waitress hasn’t gotten that memo, however.  
   
   
Killian has no sooner taken a seat at the sparsely crowded bar before she’s made her way over to him, leaning over the counter in what she obviously assumes is an alluring fashion. Her ample breasts are barely concealed by her lowcut top, and she smirks knowingly when Killian’s eyes are drawn there. He seems to vaguely recall that her name is Tamara.   
   
   
“What’ll it be, handsome? Rum, like the past few nights? Or,” she leans even closer to breathe into his ear, “something a little more fun?”  
   
   
Killian smiles, though it’s more a baring of teeth than an actual expression. Her perfume overpowers him, nearly causing his eyes to water. “Just the rum, love. Thanks.”  
   
   
She pouts at him, her full lips ridiculously red. “That’s not how you felt the other night.” She runs a manicured finger down his arm. “You were a lot nicer then.”  
   
   
Killian groans inwardly.  _Tamara_ , he thinks wearily,  _the one from Saturday night._ After their show on Saturday, Killian and his mates had taken a few girls from the bar back to the lads’ place. Killian had been well and truly smashed, but he somewhat fuzzily recalls having some girl all over him. And though he wasn’t particularly into it, not doing much to dissuade her. Tamara must be that girl.  
   
   
He doesn’t let on what he’s thinking, just winks at her.  _Don’t want to burn a bridge,_ he decides,  _never know when you might get lonely._  
   
   
“I’m a lot nicer with a drink in front of me,” he says instead, rapping his knuckles on the bar.

  
Tamara giggles, her earlier displeasure with him quickly vanishing. “Coming right up,  _love_ ,” she says, mocking Killian’s accent.   
   
   
He laughs like she’s the most delightful person he’s ever met, then rolls his eyes once she’s turned her back. Honestly. The things he has to endure for a decent rum.  
   
   
Turning slightly on his stool, Killian scans the rest of the dingy bar, looking for someone he can use to shield himself from Tamara’s advances for the evening. There are a few couples sitting close in the booths along the wall, an older man nursing a pint in the corner, and a group of what appears to be frat boys, laughing loudly as one of their members attempts to drink an entire pitcher of beer.  
   
   
With a sigh, Killian turns back to the bar, resigning himself to his big-breasted, perfume doused fate.   
   
   
 _And speaking of…_  
   
   
Tamara returns, pushing his drink towards him before leaning in close again. “Ready to play nice?” she implores.  
   
   
Killian picks up the glass, tilting it in her direction. “Depends on what you have in mind,” he replies, taking a sip of the rum.   
   
   
Tamara opens her mouth to begin detailing to him exactly what she has in mind, but is interrupted by one of the frat boys. Killian watches the kid’s attempts to flirt with her in vague amusement, before turning all his attention to the drink in his hand with relief.  
   
   
Killian realizes it’s been awhile since he was even slightly invested in the game he plays. Lately, he’d had no interest in any of the people who made passes at him, despite his perpetual flirting. He wonders when he started turning down sure things in favor for being left alone.  _God, I’m getting fucking old_ , he thinks despairingly. While objectively he knows that isn’t true, sitting alone at a shithole like the Apollo, Killian feels every inch of his 28 years.  
   
   
Lost in his maudlin thoughts, Killian doesn’t notice Tamara’s return until she pokes him in the forehead sharply. “Hello, anyone in there?” she drawls obnoxiously.  
   
   
Killian reaches up and snatches her wrist, pulling her hand away from his head angrily. At the surprised look on her face, Killian softens, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “Sorry love, what were you saying?”  
   
   
Still seeming startled by his behavior, Tamara gives him an uncertain smile. She recovers quickly, however, and leans back in to whisper her plans for Killian later that night.

  
Killian tunes her out, focusing on his drink (and the one after that, and the one after that) until he feels just drunk enough not to mind her incessant babbling. Eventually the activity in the bar picks up, and Tamara can’t continue to whisper increasingly dirty things in his ear. It doesn’t stop her from shooting him suggestive glances every few minutes, but Killian is resolved to ignore her.  
   
   
He starts up several conversations throughout the night, but isn’t in the mood for his usual flirty diatribe or attempts at wrangling up a crowd for his band. He spends most of the night staring into his rum, lost in his increasingly bathetic thoughts.  
   
   
Around 1 a.m., Killian has had enough of the Apollo for the night ( _to last a lifetime, really)_. Draining his final drink, he waits until he’s sure Tamara is sufficiently distracted before taking his leave. He’s sure he’ll hear an earful from her about standing her up the next time he’s around, but at the moment he’s just glad to be free from her grating chatter and amorous promises.  
   
   
The night is cool, and Killian shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket as he takes up a brisk pace towards home.  
   
 _No one at home to warm me up,_ he thinks, bitterly.  _Killain Jones is headed back to an empty bed._  
   
   
While he knows he could have filled it with Tamara for tonight, Killian has a sudden longing for something a little more permanent.


	7. Chapter 7

On the morning of the first “ _Saturday at the Hut”_ , David seriously considers not even getting out of bed. Ruby had threatened him to within an inch of his life if he didn’t show up and “support our endeavor, David!”,  _but really,_ David thinks,  _she wouldn’t harm her only paying customer._  
   
   
Although, who knows? After today that may no longer be the case. David groans as he remembers Ruby saying her entire art history class promised to show up. And Mary Margaret (David groans again, thinking of how forcedly normal their interactions have been since their “talk”), had quietly informed him that she had mailed flyers to everyone in town. “Obviously they won’t all show up,” she had said, never quite meeting David’s eye, “but we’re hopeful for a big turnout.”  
   
   
David finally drags himself out of bed at 9, lamenting that if this were a normal Saturday, he’d already be peacefully enjoying his book and coffee at the Hut. But the performance doesn’t take place until 11, and Ruby had insisted he come in no earlier than 10. “I don’t want you moping around all morning, David!” she had insisted. But it didn’t stop her from requesting he get there “a little early, just to make sure we don’t need any last minute help.”  
   
   
David showers quickly, hoping the pounding water will infuse him with a little bit of vigor. He wants to be excited for Ruby and Mary Margaret, he truly does, but he can’t bring himself to be thrilled about this particular idea. Why couldn’t they have “ _Quiet Morning Reading at the Hut”_  instead of inviting in all sorts of indie star wannabes into his private sanctum?  
   
   
It might not be so bad if it were poetry readings taking place today instead of music. Not that he likes poetry or anything, ( _Why don’t they ever just fucking say what they mean in those things?)_ but he figures he can tune out some liberal arts college dropout droning on about true love easier than he can a full-fledged Lonely Hearts Club band.   
   
   
Toweling his hair dry roughly, David walks to his closet, self pity-party still in full swing. He briefly considers wearing sweats and his rattiest t-shirt, just to annoy Ruby. She had instructed him to dress nice, adding “You never know who you might meet,” complete with suggestive wink.   
   
   
Sighing heavily, David pulls on a white Henley before putting a green plaid flannel on top of it. He searches for his nicer pair of jeans before discovering they’re dirty and, shrugging, steps into his slightly worn ones instead. His favorite brown jacket, thin leather belt and heavy boots complete the outfit. He glances in the full length mirror on the back of the closet door before deeming the attire as good as it’s gonna get and heading for the kitchen.   
   
   
David opens the fridge, intending to grab something to eat before he leaves, but discovers he doesn’t have anything in there besides ketchup and beer. “This morning is off to a great start,” he gripes, scrubbing a hand over his face. He scowls when he realizes he forgot to shave, but he’ll be damned if he puts one more second’s thought into his appearance today.  
   
   
David checks his watch and sees that it’s 9:35. Not enough time to go get something to eat if he wants to make it to the Hut by 10. Not that he wants to. But he is slightly afraid of Ruby. He groans again (which is quickly becoming his favorite pastime) and decides he’ll just have to eat at the Hut. He doesn’t make a habit of eating there, because Ruby’s cooking can’t always be trusted. How someone manages to make cornmeal muffins when she had intended on banana nut is beyond him. But David holds out hope that maybe Mary Margaret was in charge of today’s batch.  
   
   
David summons his willpower and heads out, grabbing his book from the table by the door as he goes. He’s going to try his damnedest to make this morning as normal as possible, and that includes getting several chapters under his belt by the time he leaves the Hut.   
   
   
David resists scuffing his feet along the sidewalk petulantly as he walks the few blocks to the Hut. He gives himself a slight shake, wondering why he’s letting this get to him so much.  _It’s just a fucking little concert_ , he berates himself,  _suck it up._  
   
   
But David has never been a fan of change. He clings to the tried and true with an almost obstinate resolve. “Stubborn as a mule” his mother had always called him. David likes structure. He craves sameness. And he resents anything that attempts to throw off the balance of his life.  
   
   
This concert series seems like something that will do exactly that, but for the sake of his friends, David decides to make an effort to enjoy himself today.  _Or at least pretend to._  
   
   
He walks a little more quickly, suddenly anxious to see if Ruby and Mary Margaret might need his help. Might as well go all in with this newfound willingness to participate.  
   
   
He passes a few townspeople on his way, raising his hand in return of their cheerful greetings. Most of them call that they’ll see him at the hut later, and David begins to wonder just how many people are going to show up to this thing. And why they all seem to assume he’ll be there as well.  _Am I that predictable?_  he asks himself, then snorts a laugh.  _Yes._  
   
   
David arrives at the Hut just a little before 10, but decides to go in anyway. If he’s bringing an offering of help, he doubts Ruby will be upset that he’s just a tad early.  
   
   
When he walks through the door, he has to lean back out to check the sign, just to be sure he’s in the right place.  
   
   
“Oh David, don’t be dramatic!” Ruby calls exasperatedly. “All we did was spruce the place up a bit.”  
   
   
“A bit?” David replies, looking around in distaste. The walls, which used to sport tree covered wallpaper and dark green paint, are now a cheerful shade of yellow. David also notes that the dark wood chairs have been given the same treatment as the bar stools, and are all various shades of the rainbow. The blinds that used to cover the windows have been replaced by flowy curtains, all of which are tied back to allow the autumn sun to stream in. Worst of all, there now sits a small stage in the corner directly across from David’s favorite table. How in hell is he supposed to ignore these hipster jackasses when they’ll practically have to sit in his lap to perform?  
   
   
Ruby and Mary Margaret are watching him expectantly from behind the counter, obviously awaiting comment from him. David can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t sound mean, so he opts for a question instead.  
   
   
“How the hell did you guys do all this in a day? I was just in here yesterday morning.”  
   
   
Ruby beams at him, clearly interpreting his surprise as admiration. “We had help! A lot of my friends from school came by yesterday.”  
   
   
Mary Margaret nods. “And a few of the ladies from my book club pitched in too.” She smiles tentatively. “Do you like it, David?”  
   
   
David looks around again, considering. He liked it the way it was before. But, if he’s objective about it, he supposes he might like it if it were somewhere other than here. So he nods, smiling at the girls. “It looks really nice. Very…inviting?”  
   
   
Ruby claps her hands delightedly. “Yes! That’s exactly what we were going for.”   
   
   
And both girls go back to beaming at him, clearly pleased with his reaction. David mentally pats himself on the back.  
   
   
“So, what can I do to help?” he asks, determined to be pleasant.  
   
   
Mary Margaret waves him off. “Absolutely nothing. We’re ready to go, all we have to do is wait for Jolly Roger to show up.”  
   
   
David’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Wait for what to show up?”  
   
   
Ruby scoffs. “Honestly David, you never pay attention. I’ve told you at least three times that the band that is playing today is called Jolly Roger.”  
   
   
David shakes his head slowly. Of all the stupid names…  
   
   
“What are they, pirates?” he asks, pleased with his own joke.  
   
   
Ruby rolls her eyes, and neither girl bothers to reply.  
   
   
David rubs the back of his head as he asks, “Well, if you didn’t need my help, why’d you tell me to show up at 10?”  
   
   
Mary Margaret smiles as she walks over to him with a cup of coffee. “We figured you’d want a little time to do your usual thing.” She indicates the book in his hand.  
   
   
David grins at her, oddly touched. “Thank you.”  
   
   
She nods, giving him a small push towards his table. “Better get to it.”  
   
   
And so he does. 


	8. Chapter 8

The morning he's set to play the coffee shop gig, Killian awakes bemoaning his existence. Fuck's sake, couldn't this thing be at a decent goddamn hour? Only overachievers were up before noon on a Saturday (though Killian was terrified of being labeled an overachiever, so he slept until noon or past every day, just to be safe).   
   
   
Still, now that he's awake, Killian can feel his previous enthusiasm for today's gig beginning to creep in. He stretches languidly in his bed before sitting up and scrubbing his hands through his undoubtedly disheveled hair. He's been told many times that his bed head is sexy, however, so he doesn't let it bother him too much.   
   
   
After checking his phone and grinning wickedly at some of the lascivious pictures from the band's Friday night out that Graham had uploaded to instagram (which included August in several compromising positions with a girl who was decidedly NOT his girlfriend.  _Can't wait to watch that shitstorm_ , he thinks gleefully), Killian hauls himself out of bed and into the shower.   
   
   
He briefly considers shaving, but then remembers the crowd he is trying to appeal to. The coffee shop types dig beards, right? Besides, he's kind of attached to his scruffy facial hair. It makes him look mysterious.   
   
   
Stepping out of the shower, Killian dries his hair vigorously, knowing the rough treatment causes it to stand up slightly in a decidedly attractive way. He's quite proud of his luxurious hair, and does his best to call attention to it.  
   
   
Walking through his messy bedroom to the closet, Killian faces a dilemma. How does one dress for a gig in an upstanding establishment? If it were a bar, he wouldn't give it a moment's thought. Tight jeans, low-cut shirt, leather jacket, typical trashed out rockstar attire. But somehow he feels that's not quite the vibe the owners of the Hut are looking for.   
   
   
 _Those hipster fucks are into plaid, right?_  he questions, then nods. He's pretty sure, anyway.   
   
   
Killian pulls out a white T-shirt to wear underneath the red plaid button up he knows is hanging in the closet somewhere. As he doesn't own any jeans besides tight ones, he figures those will have to do.   
   
   
Pulling on the various articles of clothing as he goes, Killian walks back to the bathroom to check his appearance. He decides to leave the plaid shirt unbuttoned, fancying the slightly unkempt look it lent him. Leaning over the sink to use the mirror, he adds a bit of dark liner to his eyes, just to accentuate their bright blue.   
   
   
Giving himself a final once over, Killian nods before heading out. He needs to go wrangle up his band mates so they can make it to the Hut on time. He can't keep the slight spring from his step as he takes the stairs down two at a time.   
   
   
 _Bloody hell, I'm annoyingly cheerful,_  he grins to himself.   
   
   
Though he knows the crowd will likely be sparse, Killian is excited by the prospect of performing for people who might actually pay attention to the music. It’s about time for some change.   
   
   
It's damned depressing to stand up, night after night, and play songs that you've poured your heart and soul into to a group of indifferent winos whose interest in you would only be piqued if you were served in a shot glass or over the rocks.   
   
   
Killian longs for the passion he feels for his music to be reciprocated by his audience. And sometimes it is. When they play the local concert venues, opening for other bands, the kids there give off an energy that's addicting. They sing and jump and seem so into what he's playing that Killian can't help but feel humbled (a difficult emotion for him, he freely admits).   
   
   
Those kids are the reason Killian and his mates find it so hard to go back to playing the dives that make up their usual rotation. Those places are soulless, that's what, and eventually they make you feel soulless too. Killian often finds himself blazing through their set on autopilot, not giving a fuck for what he's singing. And he hates it.   
   
   
Killian shakes himself as he jumps on his bike and starts the engine. He doesn't want to bring himself down with those depressing thoughts. Today's gonna be the start of something totally new, he can feel it.   
   
   
Killian grins at his own disgusting optimism as he speeds down the street.   
   
   
 _Fucking sap_.  
   
   
The ride to the apartment shared by his three bandmates isn’t far, but Killian enjoys it nonetheless. He runs through the setlist for their show in his head, trying to decide if he wants to make any last minute changes.  _The mates would kill me,_  he smiles to himself.  
   
   
When he reaches the ivy-covered brick building that houses his friends, Killian parks and quickly jumps off his bike. Whistling jauntily, he jogs up the stairs leading to the third-story apartment. He sometimes wonders why he doesn’t just live here with Graham, August and Smee, given the frequency of his visits.   
   
   
 _Sometimes a man needs to be by himself,_  he always reasons.  
   
   
Besides, even though they’re all great friends, the other three live together more out of necessity than a particular desire to be close. Being in a small-town, small-time band doesn’t pay well. Hell, it hardly pays at all. Killian’s friends live together in an effort to stretch every penny as far as possible.  
   
   
The only reason Killian can afford to live on his own is because he was awarded a small ( _and getting smaller by the day_ ) settlement after getting hit on his bike a few years ago. It had been great at first, allowing Killian the freedom he needed to give the band a serious go. He hadn’t needed to work tedious jobs, squeezing in a writing or practice session maybe once a week, if he were lucky.  
   
   
But how does the saying go? Freedom don’t come free? Nowadays, Killian grimaces every time he sees the balance in his checking account. Something’s going to have to change soon if he wants to continue eating.  _And drinking, can’t forget drinking._  
   
   
Which is why he’s so eager for their gig today. Though he can’t explain why, it certainly feels like the winds of fortune will soon be blowing in Jolly Roger’s favor.  
   
   
Reaching apartment 3F, Killian doesn’t bother to knock before trying the handle. He’s not surprised to find it unlocked, and he breezes his way through the door calling, “Showtime, lads! Get your sorry arses out here and let’s go be wholesome.”  
   
   
Remarkably, and perhaps for the first time ever, each member of the band is ready to go without having been pushed and prodded by Killian. August grins at him from the couch while Graham comes carrying his bass through the bedroom door. “And where’s Smee, then?” he asks, glancing around the living room quickly.  
   
   
“He’s out back, finishing loading up the van. Your stuff’s already in there, by the way,” Graham replies, never faltering in his journey towards the door. “Don’t get comfortable, let’s just leave.”  
   
   
“Aye aye, first mate,” Killian replies enthusiastically, laughing when Graham raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “What? You’re hardly the captain, love.”  
   
   
August heaves himself off the couch, and shoulders Killian roughly as he walks past. “How come he gets to be the first mate?”  
   
   
Killian shoves him back and they continue to bicker playfully all the way down the stairs.  
   
   
On the drive over to the Hut, each band member seems to be in a particularly jovial mood. Killian thinks they must feel the same way he does. That today is going to be a very good day indeed.   
   
   
When they arrive at the tiny shop, pulling in to the back lot, they’re greeted by a young woman who, if possible, is even more excited than they are.   
   
   
“You’re here! I’m so excited. So many people are here! This is going to be amazing,” she babbles, rushing forward to throw her arms around Smee. He grins as he returns the hug.  
   
   
 _Well now,_ Killian thinks slyly,  _this must be our mysterious flyer supplier._  Killian suddenly finds her a lot more interesting.  
   
   
Releasing Smee, the girl turns to beam at the rest of the band. She’s very pretty, Killian notes, with striking features and an easy smile.  
   
   
“Sorry, I’m just so glad you’re here. I’m Ruby, and everything is all ready to go inside. We were just waiting for you and your equipment,” Ruby gushes, her hazel eyes sparkling. “Although I do need one of you to come in back with me and fill out some papers. My granny says it has something to do with the insurance? I don’t know.” She waves her hand dismissively, like the whole idea is annoying to her.  
   
   
August gives Killian a little shove forward. “Sounds like a perfect job for you, cap’n,” he says, smirk evident in his voice. “We’ll go get set up.”  
   
   
Killian inclines his head graciously toward Ruby, and she giggles. “Lead the way, love.”


	9. Chapter 9

If David thought he would be able to enjoy a few blissful moments of calm before the metaphorical storm, he was vastly mistaken. He’s no sooner taken his seat and opened his book before the door to the Hut opens, admitting a stream of people. In the next thirty minutes, at least fifty people enter the small coffee shop and in that time, David manages to read exactly one and a half pages of  _Anna Karenina_. 

   
They come in groups, they come in couples, they come alone, but almost every person greets David as they enter and he feels compelled to reply in kind. Thankfully, however, no one asks to join him. They congregate at the counter and pull chairs up around the tiny stage. The tables sit empty, save for David’s. 

   
And he has no plans to move. He had gladly sacrificed the second chair at his table to a pretty girl from Ruby’s art class (interaction with whom Ruby strongly encouraged, judging by all the winking and gesturing she performed from behind the counter.) David, however, shook his head at her minutely and, ignoring the eye rolling and tongue sticking out going on over at the bar, politely informed the girl that no, he didn’t mind at all if she took the chair and yes, he was fine where he was. 

   
At a quarter to 11, three guys emerge through the curtain behind the bar, carrying guitars and various percussion type instruments.  _Jolly Roger, I presume._ David watches them set up their equipment in mild surprise. Much to his chagrin, they don’t look anything like hipsters. They look…well they look like rockers. Or a version of it anyway. They look like they might be capable of producing decent music, actually.  
  

Nevertheless, David is still determined that this show is an irritation, despite his earlier resolution to feign enjoyment. That was before he had to ask fifty-eleven people how their days were going and have them expect him to smile and nod when they asked if he was excited for the show. 

   
So David decides he will be ignoring Jolly Roger and their audience completely. He reopens his book with gusto and doesn’t look up again. Not when the band tunes their instruments, or check check check their mics, nor when Ruby takes the stage to introduce them to loud applause. And he may have gone on not looking up for the rest of the morning, if it weren’t for one thing.

   
He hears someone with a vague accent, maybe Irish, murmur a polite “Cheers,” in response to the enthusiastic welcome. The opening chords to a song are plucked out on a guitar, and David furrows his brow, recognizing the tune from somewhere. He hadn’t realized Jolly Roger would be playing covers. 

   
And then, then, he hears the first words to the song being sung by arguably the most astonishing voice David has ever heard.

   
“ _At last/ my love has come along/ my lonely days are over/and life is like a song,”_

   
Completely forgetting that he is pointedly ignoring the band in favor of his book, David’s head snaps up, mouth open in wonderment. The voice he hears in the perfect combination of gruff and lilting, producing a sound like which he’s never heard. His eyes immediately seek the source of the beauteous voice issuing from the stage.

   
And then David sees him. And fuck, if he thought the  _voice_ was beautiful, it’s nothing compared to the man who possesses it. “ _Eyes,”_ is the only coherent thought he’s capable of at first. Then his focus widens a little, and he drinks in the sight of tousled black hair, a heavy brow that sits over hooded blue ( _amazingly, ridiculously, gorgeously blue_ ,) eyes. His cheekbones are high and defined; his nose straight but with a slight downward turn at the end. And his mouth, oh fuck, his mouth. Framed by dimples and accentuated by faint laugh lines, his full mouth is perfectly bow shaped. His straight white teeth and unruly dark stubble add to its appeal. His defined jaw is like the cherry on the proverbial sundae.

   
David lets his eyes roam over more of the musician, entranced. His neck is gorgeously long, emphasized by the lowneck shirt he’s wearing. Based on the glimpse said lowneck offers, his chest is strong and defined. He has broad shoulders and well-built arms. His seated position makes it hard for David to judge, but he’d say the man is just slightly shorter than his own 6’1. 

   
David allows his gaze to linger on the man’s physique for far longer than is prudent. Finally, he wrenches his eyes away, praying no one noticed his staring.  _That’ll make for awkward conversations,_ he thinks ruefully. He’s not sure what’s gotten into him. He’s usually pretty oblivious to people’s physical attributes. But this guy…

   
David turns his attention back to his book, though there’s no way in hell he will be able to concentrate on it now. The man’s incredible voice is permeating throughout his consciousness.

   
 _“At last/the skies above are blue/my heart was wrapped in clover/the night I looked at you,”_

 

 _Pretty sure I know how that feels,_  David thinks dismally. He decides to chance one more look at the guy, this time far more subtly. He causally raises his eyes from the book, letting his gaze drift towards the stage, seemingly by accident. And finds himself staring straight into stunning blue eyes. Still singing, the man raises an eyebrow in inquiry.  _Shit shit,_  David quickly looks away, all attempts at subtlety abandoned in his panic.

   
So apparently  _someone_ had noticed David’s gaping. He can still feel the man’s eyes on him and flushes slightly at the thought. Bringing a hand to his mouth, David nervously chews on his thumbnail, his index finger resting on his bottom lip.  _I wonder if he’s still looking?_

   
Feeling a slight thrill at the thought, David can’t resist letting his eyes wander back to the stage. When their gazes meet again, the musician gives him a soft smile. Surprising himself, David returns it shyly around the fingers on his lips, before coyly averting his eyes again. 

   
And so it goes on. Jolly Roger play a twelve song set, covers and originals evenly matched. David keeps up the pretence of reading, though he doesn’t take in a single word. Instead he listens to the singer’s voice, enraptured, and tries to sneak glances when he thinks he won’t be caught. The man on the stage has no such qualms, however, and boldly grins every time David lifts his head to find his eyes again. Sometimes David lets his gaze linger, but he usually looks away immediately upon finding those blue eyes. 

   
Finally, the blissful torture comes to an end. The resplendent musician thanks the crowd for being there (his Irish accent more pronounced, along with David’s attraction), and says, with a raised eyebrow, that he hopes they’ll be invited back again. The crowd agrees raucously (as does David’s stomach, judging by the way it leaps into his throat). The band stands and takes a brief bow, the object of David’s attention more colorfully than his subdued bandmates.

   
Not that David noticed. Oh no. He’s back to studiously reading his book. In fact, he’s pretending to focus so hard that he doesn’t notice someone approaching his table until they rap their fingers on it lightly.

   
David looks up, startled, and nearly falls out of his chair when he sees who has demanded his attention. 

   
“Hullo mate,” the scruffy lead singer grins at him. 

   
“Uh, hey,” David manages to grunt back.  _Shit, what does he want?_  he thinks desperately.  _Please don’t call me out on being a creepy, staring weirdo in front of all these people._ David wishes the guy hadn’t acknowledged him at all, because now half the room’s attention was focused on what was going on at his table. Of course it is. Who could take their eyes off this guy?  _Not you, apparently,_  his mind supplies dryly.

   
The musician is still grinning at David, causing him to feel slightly hot under the collar. He reaches up to tug at it uselessly, those disturbingly blue eyes tracking the movement.

   
After several excruciatingly long seconds, the man speaks again. “I just thought I’d come ask what book it is you’re reading that has you so hooked. I mean, you  _barely_ looked up from it the entire set,” he says with teasing inflection in his voice, complete with a mocking wink.

   
David feels his ears grow hot.  _Fucking asshole,_ he seethes.  _Fucking beautiful asshole,_ he amends slightly.

   
Realizing that the guy is still awaiting an answer to his thinly veiled question, David clears his throat. “Um, it’s ‘ _Anna Karenina’_ ,” he mumbles, avoiding the man’s searching blue gaze.

   
The musician opens his perfect mouth to reply but before he gets a word out, the girl who had taken David’s second chair suddenly appears at his elbow. “Hi,” she says breathlessly. “My friends and I,” she gestures over her shoulder at a group of four or five college aged girls, “were wondering if you and your bandmates would take a picture with us?”

   
David’s tormentor turns to face her fully, a ready smile firmly etching a dimple in his cheek, and David takes that as his cue to escape. Rising quickly, he rushes across the shop to where Ruby is chatting to several townsfolk. Kissing her hurriedly on the cheek he says, “Great job today, Rube. I gotta get to the shelter, but I’ll see you tomorrow,” and heads for the door. She seems confused by his abrupt departure, but waves happily nonetheless.

   
As he practically bolts out the door, David feels someone’s gaze on his back. And if he were a betting man, he’d wager that the gaze was an unbelievable shade of blue.


	10. Chapter 10

As Killian follows Ruby through the shop’s back door, she gushes to him incessantly about how excited she is to hear the band play. William (as she calls him) has apparently been trying to get her to come down to the Apollo, but she hasn’t been able to make it.

   
“He’s played me some of your stuff though, Killian, and it’s just so wonderful!” she beams at him. “You’re all really talented.”

 

Smiling back, Killian decides that he likes Smee’s newfound “friend”. She’s sweet and energetic, beautiful and most of all, she complimented his music.  _Doesn’t take much to win me over._

 

“Thanks, love. We’re honored to be here.” He winks at Ruby. “And we’ve all been dying to meet this girl William can’t shut up about.”

 

She blushes delightedly. “You’re just as incorrigible as William says.”  
 

“Guilty as charged,” Killian replies as Ruby leads him down a small hallway and into an equally tiny office. A plain desk sits off to the side, covered in paperwork. Several filing cabinets line the walls with various potted plants perched on top of them.  

 

Killian pauses in the doorway while Ruby walks to the desk, shuffling the papers around noisily. “I know that form is here somewhere,” she mutters. In a louder tone, she addresses Killian. “My granny wanted to make sure that you guys signed some agreement about potential damage to your equipment? To make sure we can’t be held accountable or something?” She huffs, apparently finding the idea ridiculous. “Not that anything is going to happen. Or that you would be dicks about it if it did.” With a triumphant noise, she locates the form she’s looking for, waving it in Killian’s direction. “You don’t mind signing it, do you? Granny was pretty adamant about it,” she says apologetically.  
   

Killian shakes his head and makes a soothing sound as he approaches the desk. “Not at all, love. Seems fair to me.” He takes the paper from her, glancing over it quickly before scrawling his name on the appropriate line. It seems straightforward enough, and Killian is just eager to play. He doesn’t give a damn for legal implications.  

   
“Awesome! Now the fun stuff can start!” Ruby’s enthusiasm is adorable, and Killian decides to have a little chat with Smee later about doing his damndest to make this relationship stick. He and all three of his bandmates have a propensity for horrific relationships.  
  


“So,” Killian says once he’s finished signing, rocking forward onto the balls of his feet and clasping his hands behind his back, “will this granny of yours be front and center today?”  
  

Ruby giggles lightly. “No, unfortunately. She tends to leave Hut business to me and Mary Margaret, my best friend and the other barista here. But lots of other people are already here!” She seems thrilled at the thought. “Which is amazing because, truth be told, we don’t normally get a lot of traffic here. Besides David, bless his heart. David is our saving grace.” Ruby’s face relaxes into a fond smile at the mention of this David and Killian frowns slightly.  _Might need to tell Smee to keep an eye out for him, whoever he is._    
  

“But there’s a crowd today?” he asks, hoping they aren’t about to waste an entire Saturday playing to a handful of people. In his haze of excitement for this gig, it had never occurred to Killian that they could have a dismal turnout. Distantly, he hears Graham’s monotone voice testing out the mics in the main room.  _Too late to back out now, anyway._  
  

In response to his question, Ruby nods eagerly. “Oh yes! I’d say there’s upwards of 50 people out there! It’s packed.”  
 

Killian raises a brow, pleased. He wouldn’t have guessed this place could even hold 50 people.

   
“Well that’s lovely,” he says. “We’ve played some shows at bars to 6 people,” he smirks at her, “and that included the band.” He wishes he were exaggerating.

   
Ruby laughs again, slapping his arm playfully. “You’re too much. Come on,” she adds, stepping around him towards the door. “It sounds like we’re getting close to showtime.”

   
Killian trails her out the door and down the hallway, passing through a curtain to the main part of the shop. It’s bright and sunny, just the way you’d expect a coffee shop to be, and Killian relishes the contrast to those fucking bleak bars they usually haunt.

   
In the far corner sits a small stage, on which his band mates are putting the finishing touches of their setup. As Ruby promised, the shop is packed. Most of the crowd is congregated around the stage, seated in chairs painted in varying shades of the rainbow. A few people stand opposite of the bar Ruby and Killian have just emerged behind, drinking coffee, chatting amiably, laughing pleasantly. 

  
Killian breathes out a grateful breath. He hasn’t even taken the stage and already he feels more satisfied with this gig than he has with any in recent memory. Murmuring a quick thanks to Ruby, he heads across the shop to the stage, greeting almost everyone as he goes.

   
The hum of anticipation in the air is more intoxicating than even the finest rum, and Killian drinks it in greedily. This is what he loves. Preparing to play for people who are prepared to listen. He can’t stop grinning, and he finds the expression mirrored back at him from his bandmates as he reaches the stage.   
  

“Ready lads?’ he asks around his smile and even Graham, usually the most recalcitrant of the group, nods eagerly.  
  

As he takes the stool in the center, Killian notices the one person in the room who doesn’t seem to reflect the mood of everyone else. He’s seated alone at a table opposite the stage, nose buried in a book, (broad, strong, attractive) shoulders hunched forward slightly. His head is bowed, so the only details about his appearance that Killian can make out are his dark blond hair and slightly stubbled jaw.  _Still, he’s intriguing._  
  

The most intriguing thing is the marked difference between him and the rest of the room. His posture screams of unwillingness to be there and Killian idly wonders if perhaps his girlfriend dragged him down against his will. Whatever the case, he very plainly has no interest in anything Jolly Roger has to offer.  _Well, we’ll just have to see if we can change that._  
  

Lifting his guitar from its stand, Killian turns to face the (willing) crowd in front of him. Ruby has just climbed onstage and bends down to speak into his microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, Jolly Roger!” she proclaims happily, and the crowd bursts into enthusiastic applause.   
  

Looking into the faces before him, Killian is suddenly struck by their nearness to the stage, and feels an unexpected wave of nerves. These people are actively engaging in this performance, and Killian is used to being ignored by people at a bar across the room. He feels a pressure like he hasn’t in a long time. He clears his throat and croaks out “Cheers,” in response to their polite reception. And then he can’t seem to pick a neutral place to look so, slightly distressed, he closes his eyes. It’s safer that way, as he has no idea where to direct his gaze.  
  

Turns out, that won’t be a problem for long.   
  

After strumming out the intro, Killian begins to sing the first verse to  _“At Last”._ Whenever they play acoustic sets, the song is always a part of Jolly Roger’s repertoire. For reasons he can’t explain, Killian loves this song.  
  

As he reaches the middle of the verse, Killian allows his eyes to drift open, the music infusing him with a confidence he hadn’t been able to reach on his own. Smiling, he lets his gaze sweep over the crowd slowly.  
  

And then he sees him.   
  

The taciturn bibliophile, who once refused to look up from his novel, is now staring at Killian. Hard.  
  

Killian nearly forgets the next words to the song he’s known by heart since he was five years old.  
  

The man has yet to meet Killian’s eye, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t caught it.  
  

_Bloody fucking hell._  
  

He’s ravishing. There’s no other word for it. Struggling to keep his words and cords straight, Killian hungrily devours the man with his eyes.  
  

That dark blond hair sits atop a face that is both soft, with pleasingly rounded cheeks and a delicate brow, and hard, with a long, straight nose and sharp, defined jawline. His blue eyes defy reason. That is, they’re unbelievable. Pale but striking, their color is accented perfectly by the lightness of his eyebrows and facial hair. Killian gets stuck on them for long moments, willing the man to lift them to meet Killian’s own.  
  

Then Killian notices his mouth, and almost loses track of the song again. It sits just slightly left of center, but that only adds to its appeal. The full lips seem pursed in a small, perpetual ( _fucking sexy_ ) pout. Killian’s only thought at present is finding an excuse to kiss them, to test if they’re as soft as they look. His next thought is a desire to see that mouth pulled into the smile that is hinted at by laugh lines framing it.

   
Killian allows his eyes to travel down the man’s body, delighting in every detail he takes in. Slender neck, previously noted broad shoulders, strong arms, fit torso, long legs. There’s nothing about him that doesn’t appeal to Killian, and he finds himself becoming more and more enthralled with him.   
  

The man, who had been staring at Killian’s own torso for long moments as though entranced, suddenly jerks his head back down, beautiful eyes returning to the book in his hands. Killian bemoans their loss as he, incredibly, manages to reach the second verse of his song. The entire time he sings it, he can’t bear to look away from the newfound object of his fascination.  
  

Which is why he’s able to catch those light blue eyes the next time they’re directed his way. His mouth goes dry when their gazes lock, and he sends up an absent prayer that August remembered to set out the bottles of water. He’s going to need one.

   
Killian raises an eyebrow at the look of panic that crosses his paramour’s face when he realizes Killian is watching him. He tears his eyes away quickly and Killian feels bereft without them.  
  

His stomach twists pleasantly when the man brings a hand to his mouth to nervously bite his nails, as it calls Killian’s attention back to those incredible lips. Not that he needed an excuse to look.

   
Slowly, like he can’t believe he’s doing it, Killian’s obsession turns his head back towards the stage, fingers still resting against his lips. Utterly charmed by the unconscious gesture, Killian smiles softly as their eyes meet once again. And to his sheer delight, the gorgeous man returns the smile, albeit shyly. After a moment, he averts his eyes again demurely.  
  

And Killian is gone. 

   
Throughout the rest of the set, Killian’s only focus is on catching the guy’s eye again and again, grinning broadly every time. Granted, he spends a little time interacting with the crowd, winking and smiling and joking, but none of it thrills like the brief moments of eye contact with the man across the room.  
  

Eventually, Killian’s flirty game is brought to an end, along with their setlist. The band stands to take a bow, which Killian performs with gusto after expressing a desire to come play again (with which the crowd agrees wholeheartedly). He never allows his stare to stray too far from his resolute reader who, Killian notes with a flare of affection, has returned to his whole “reading and ignoring” routine.

   
Accepting praise from the crowd all the way, Killian threads through the scattered chairs until he reaches the table his darling bookworm is seated at. He stands close, waiting in bemused silence for the man to notice his presence. When he hasn’t looked up after several long moments, Killian reaches past his shoulder to rap his knuckles on the table, barely resisting the urge to brush against his plaid covered arm.

   
The man jumps slightly, wrenching his head up, only to stare at Killian in startled quiet. Killian grins. “Hullo mate,” he says.  
  

“Uh hey,” comes the low reply. The man’s rough voice grates along Killian’s senses delightfully. He continues to grin down at Blue Eyes, nearly laughing when he reaches up to adjust his collar nervously. 

   
After deciding he’s tortured the poor man enough, Killian speaks again. “I just thought I’d come ask what book it is you’re reading that has you so hooked. I mean, you  _barely_ looked up from it the entire set,” he says, in his flirtiest tone, throwing in a wink for good measure.  
  

It seems to lack the desired effect, however, as the man’s ears redden and his eyes narrow.  _Oh that’s hot._  
  

After clearing his throat, the delicious fellow speaks again, giving Killian four mumbled words instead of two.  _Progress._  
  

“Um, it’s ‘ _Anna Karenina’_ ,” he says, avoiding Killian’s gaze.  
  

Killian opens his mouth to enquire further but before he can speak, he feels a tug on his elbow. Glancing over, he sees a young girl staring up at him eagerly. “Hi,” she says breathlessly. “My friends and I,” she points over her shoulder to a group of similarly aged girls, “were wondering if you and your bandmates would take a picture with us?”  
  

Despite how much he’s enjoying flustering the man before him, Killian can’t ignore a potential supporter. He turns to face her, hitching a smile onto his face. As he agrees and begins to follow her across the shop, he catches movement out of the corner of his eye.   
  

His handsome loner has practically fled the shop, pausing only to press a kiss to Ruby’s cheek on the way out. Killian’s heart sinks, and stares at him hard in an attempt to stop his flight. But the man ducks out the door not a moment later and Killian sighs dejectedly.

   
He’s only depressed for a moment though, before his eyes seek out Ruby. Grinning wickedly, he starts towards her, determined to press her for any and all details about his mystery man.  
  

_I’ll have you yet, Blue Eyes._


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning, David allows himself a bit of a lie in.  _Recovering from yesterday's traumatic experience,_  he thinks dramatically. In all honesty, sleep is the only place he's been able to get that freaking singer and that dizzying smile out of his head.   
   
   
After he’d left the Hut the previous day, it seemed no more than five minutes could go by before the man popped into his thoughts again. When he was walking home, he couldn’t help but notice how the sky perfectly matched the blue of the man’s eyes. When he listened to music as he fixed dinner, he kept comparing the voices on the radio to that of the musician (never as beautiful). When he showered before bed, he imagined…well.  
   
   
As it were, David couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed that he'd never have to see the guy again. It couldn’t be good for his sanity, that’s for sure.   
   
   
Eventually David hauls himself out of bed, resolving to go grab a coffee and spend a few hours doing paperwork at the shelter. Maybe that would keep his wayward thoughts at bay.   
   
   
He dresses quickly, and running his fingers through his hair is the only attempt he makes at improving his appearance, thinking,  _I wonder if his hair is as soft as it looks?_ as he does so.  _Damn it, David._  
   
   
When he steps out of his apartment building, David realizes it's raining, beating out a steady rhythm on the awning above the door. Cursing softly, he backtracks to grab an umbrella and then sets off, grumbling about the rain.   
   
   
Despite his bitching, David doesn't actually mind the rain. Growing up on a farm, rain was a cause for celebration. It meant life and growth, and nearly ten years after leaving the farm, David still feels a slight thrill at the sight of it.   
   
   
Today however, he's already decided that everything is going to annoy the shit out of him, and the rain is no exception. With every sloshing step he takes, he grows more annoyed with himself and his inability to stop fucking thinking about that guy.  
   
   
His surly decision to be miserable is put to the test, however, the moment he walks through the Hut's doors.  
   
   
David keeps his head down as he pushes his way inside, fighting with his ancient yellow umbrella.   
   
   
Therefore, he is taken completely by surprise when he's greeted, not with the expected bright chirp of Ruby's voice or the soft lilt of Mary Margaret's, but by a cheery Irish brogue.   
   
   
"Morning, mate! How may I service you this fine day?"  
   
   
David's head snaps up with enough force to give himself whiplash.   
   
   
Behind the counter of the bar, wearing one of Hut’s bright purple service aprons, is the scruffy singer from the band that had performed at the Hut yesterday.   
   
   
He's grinning at David, much the same way he had from the stage the previous day. The way that David couldn’t look away from. Or stop thinking about.   
   
   
 _So much for never seeing him again._  
   
   
David fights the blush he can feel rising in his cheeks. Damn but the guy is attractive. His dark hair and stubble offset his striking blue eyes perfectly.  
   
   
And then you have David, who is sure he looks like a slob. He’s in the same clothes from yesterday, for godsakes. He almost reaches up to smooth his hair, anything to make himself more presentable, but decides that's too obvious.  
   
   
Per his earlier decision, David tries to be annoyed by the man's presence, but all he can feel is this curious sense of elation.   
   
   
David has to swallow twice before he can force any words past his suddenly tight throat.   
   
   
"Where's Ruby? Or Mary Margaret? What're you doing here?" he asks, commending himself on how relaxed his voice sounds, when he himself feels anything but.   
   
   
The musician pulls an exaggerated hurt face, laying a hand across his chest.   
   
   
"You wound me, mate. It almost sounds like you're not happy to see me."  
   
   
His hurt look is quickly replaced by that shiteating grin of his.   
   
   
Flustered, both by the grin and the guy's playful, almost flirty tone, David turns away to prop his umbrella by the door. He basically stammers out his next sentence.   
   
   
"Uh well...it's not...I'm used...I just like getting my coffee from them."  
   
   
He turns back in time to catch scruffy guy's ( _I really need to learn his name_ , David thinks desperately) smile falter again, though this time the hurt look seems genuine. David scrambles to rectify that.  
   
   
"I-I mean, you just surprised me by like, being...here. Just, seriously, what are you doing here?" David asks again. He can’t imagine any scenario that would justify the man’s prescence behind the counter. Or at the shop at all, really.  
   
   
Scruffy quirks an eyebrow at David. "I was here yesterday, mate. Thought you'd be used to it. And maybe I work here now."   
   
   
David shrugs helplessly. "You were over there yesterday," he says, pointing at the makeshift stage in the corner. "And I find it hard to believe that Ruby or Mary Margaret would let a first day trainee manage the counter by himself." Ruby was very particular about who she allowed to serve coffee. She wouldn’t even let David serve himself, and he’d been coming in every day for five years.  
   
   
The guy rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Perhaps I'm a barista god. A prodigy. You don’t know. Get over here, order something and let me blow your mind." The grin is back, and with every appearance David feels himself getting sucked deeper into this guy's charm.   
   
   
He shakes his head as he approaches the counter. He'll play along. The guy’s brilliant smile makes it impossible not to.   
   
   
"Coffee, regular, large, no cream, two sugars," he says, pulling up the stool to the left of the guy behind the bar.   
   
   
"Nope," comes the reply, swift and definitive.   
   
   
David's eyes widen in surprise. "Excuse me?" he asks in confusion.   
   
   
"You could fix that shit by the pot at home. It ain't something you walk to a shop to pay $3 a mug for, mate. Don't be thick." The man shakes his head at David, as though it’s obvious.  
   
   
The nerve of this guy! Despite his infatuation, David feels his short fuse burning out, and allows a bit of his temper to seep into his voice as he says, " _I_  walk to this shop to order it. Every day. So how about you do your job and give me what I'm paying for."  
   
   
The self-proclaimed barista god seems unfazed by David's outburst, and simply fixes him with a calculating look.   
   
   
"Well, seeing as you ain't paid for anything yet, how about you let me fix you what I want, and we'll see how you feel afterwards."   
   
   
Up close, the grin is doing strange things to him, and David can't seem to find anything to say to that. He wants to protest, to assure the guy that he wants the same thing he orders every day, but can't figure out how to do so without sounding whiny and sullen. Finally he just nods wearily, and is glad he caved when he sees the delighted look that crosses scruffy guy's face.  _I'm so fucked._  
   
   
The man behind the counter rubs his hands together gleefully, looking around at the myriad of drink options surrounding him.   
   
   
"No worries, mate. I'm gonna fix you up good," he rushes to assure David. He picks up several flavoring  bottles and sets them on the counter in front of him, creating a small collection that he begins adding to a mug.  
   
   
Inexplicably, David's stomach jumps at that promise. To cover, he just replies dismissively, "David."  
   
   
"Pardon?" the guy turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised.   
   
   
David flushes again. Fucking eyebrows. "My name. It's David."  
   
   
"Oh!" The guy faces him fully, gesturing down at himself, pointing to the apron slung around his neck.  
   
   
David glances down, frowning. The guy catches his look and glances down too.   
   
   
"Oh!" he says again, chuckling slightly. "Guess I don't have one of them name tag thingies on here." He sticks his hand across the counter. "Killian. Killian Jones."  
   
   
 _Killian. That’s fucking sexy,_  David thinks dreamily, and then mentally slaps himself as he takes the hand offered to him. "Pleased to meet you," he says, ignoring the flutter in his stomach at the brief contact with Killian. How old is he, anyway?   
   
   
Killian grins back. "Charmed, I'm sure," he replies, taking his hand back and returning to his barista duties.   
   
   
David wipes his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans, chastising himself for being so affected by a  _handshake_.   
   
   
Killian is humming to himself as he fixes David's mystery drink, and David is determinedly  _not_  finding it adorable. He can’t help but stare at Killian. Everything about the man is entrancing.  
   
   
After adding what looks like a dab of every option available to him, Killian presents the cup to David with a flourish, seeming inordinately pleased with himself.   
   
   
"The Jones specialty. I hope you appreciate it, because I don't give it out to just anyone, mate." Killian winks at him.   
   
   
 _Seriously? Who fucking winks at people,_  David thinks, but all he says is "My name is David. And thanks."  
   
   
Killian rolls his eyes again, as though he finds everything David says to be ridiculous. "It's a term of endearment,  _mate_. Now drink up."  
   
   
Pointedly ignoring the fact that Killian just said he was endeared to him, David eyes his drink apprehensively. "You sure you know what you're doing back there?" he asks, stalling. He never takes anything in his coffee, let alone everything.  
   
   
"Just shut up and drink it, David."  
   
   
David has just raised the cup to his lips, eagerly watched by Killian, when Ruby bursts through the curtained doorway.   
   
   
"David! I didn't realize you were here!" she exclaims, then turns to narrow her eyes at Killian suspiciously. "What are you doing behind the counter? And why didn't you come get me when David arrived?"  
   
   
Killian holds his hand up, palms out, in apparent innocence. "Well since it seemed as though you were  _so very_  busy, I figured I could take care of Dave myself." He shoots another wink at David, who flushes. Again.   
   
   
Ruby frowns, putting her hands on her hips. "Did he take care of you, David?" she asks.  
   
   
David opens his mouth helplessly while Killian all but leers at him. He finally manages to point lamely at the cup in his hand. "Sort of?" he says, glancing at Killian quickly.   
   
   
Ruby lifts the cup from him and sniffs it before grimacing and shooting Killian a look. "Oh David! You don't have to drink this. I'll make you your usual."  
   
   
David quickly shakes his head, feeling strangely compelled to try the drink Killian made for him. "No, it's okay. No sense in wasting coffee." He offers Ruby a weak smile when she gives him a look.  
   
   
"Wellll okay, if you're sure.” She sits the cup back on the counter. “You good out here for a bit? I need to go finish filing some stuff." At David's nod, she turns to Killian, pointing a finger at him. "You. Get out from behind the counter. And take that apron off, for godsake." David is pleased that his assessment of her level of possessiveness for the counter was correct.  
   
   
Killian gives her a little bow as she stalks off, calling over her shoulder, "And don't help anyone else!"    
   
   
After pulling the apron off and tossing it on the counter, Killian comes around to take up the stool next to David.   
   
   
Picking up his drink, David glances at Killian out of the corner of his eye. "Barista god, huh?" he says, once again raising the cup to his lips with a smirk.   
   
   
Killian snorts out a laugh. "Shut you up, didn't it? How's the drink?" he adds, watching David closely.   
   
   
 _Horrible,_  David thinks, nearly spitting out the mouthful. He swallows with a shudder and chokes out "Horrible", to which Killian laughs again. He has a nice laugh.   
   
   
"Maybe 'barista god' was stretching it a bit," he admits with a cheeky grin.   
   
   
"Just a bit," David agrees, rising from the stool and pulling out his wallet to lay a couple bills on the counter. "Feel free to finish that if you’d like. On me."  
   
   
Killian's face falls as he watches David tuck his wallet away and call goodbye to Ruby. "You leaving already?" he asks, disappointment evident in his voice. “Now I’ll have no one to serve.”   
   
   
“For which we’re all grateful,” David says with an amused smile. Killian brought out the smiler in him, apparently.  
   
   
Killian scoffs. “Where’re you off to in such a hurry, anyway?” he asks, before grinning at David. “And wherever it is, don’tcha think you’d rather be here with me?”   
   
   
 _Most definitely._ "Gotta get to work," David says, while thinking,  _Gotta get away from you before your fucking smile makes me do something I'll regret._    
   
   
"Work?" Killian blusters, "it's Sunday!"  
   
   
"Thanks for the update. And the drink." David walks toward the door. When he reaches it, he glances back to find Killian staring at him. He offers what he hopes is his own version of a shiteating grin before he says, "Maybe don't pursue the barista thing though. Stick with the band."  
   
   
Killian pouts adorably, causing David to laugh for the first time that day. Killian's eyes light up at the sound, and David feels that curious sensation in his stomach again. "See ya around, Killian."  
   
   
"I'm gonna hold you to that David," Killian replies, giving him a small salute with two fingers.   
   
   
As David walks the few blocks to the shelter, his step feels lighter than it has in as long as he can remember. Despite the rain.


	12. Chapter 12

Killian watches from the Hut’s large front window as David heads down the street towards the center of town. He strains to keep his eyes on him for as long as possible, but eventually David turns a corner and is out of sight.   
   
   
Killian frowns slightly, disappointed at the brevity of their encounter. But then he grins as he thinks back on their interaction. David is more appealing to him than ever. And the way he had insisted Killian call him “David”…well. Killian had, of course, already learned his name from Ruby the previous day, but he didn’t want David knowing he had inquired about him. So he let David introduce himself.  
   
   
He had looked deliciously disheveled, as though he’d just rolled out of bed.  _And isn’t that a happy image?_  His blue eyes had been as sharp as ever, though, and Killian delighted in recalling the way they lit up when David smiled.  _Or laughed. But I can’t think about that right now or I’ll need to excuse myself._  
   
   
Aside from being the most beautiful person Killian can recall laying his eyes on, David has a personality that Killian finds completely irresistible.   
   
   
He initially comes across as shy but the closer you look, the easier it is to spot his quiet, understated confidence.  _And quite a quick temper, it seems,_ Killian thinks delightedly, remembering the flush in David’s cheeks and the fire in his eyes as he practically demanded Killian serve him what he’d ordered. Killian has the distinct feeling he’d never tire of ruffling David’s feathers, just to put that spark in his eyes and growl in his voice.  
   
   
And though he was still guarded and mostly quiet, aspects of David’s personality had broken through the more Killian teased him. He was a smartass, it seemed, as well as witty and kind and reliable. Killian knows the last must be true, because David showed up exactly when Ruby said he would.   
   
   
Killian smiles, recalling his (not so subtle) attempt at extracting information about David from her the previous day.  
   
   
   
 _No sooner had David departed the Hut than Killian was making his way over to Ruby. He was sure she had to have a strong relationship with David, given the way David had sought her out even as he attempted to flee._  
   
   
   
 _Killian couldn’t be sure why he felt so compelled to learn more about his broody bookworm, he only knew that he hadn’t been so intrigued by anyone (man or woman) in a long time._  
   
   
 _Killian sidles up to Ruby’s elbow, politely waiting for her to finish her conversation before starting the interrogation. Turns out, he needn’t wait long._  
   
   
 _As soon as Ruby notices his presence, she throws her arms around him with a squeal of delight. “Killian! You were so amazing! Everyone is so impressed. No one can wait for you to play again,” she tilts her head back to look at him, arms still wrapped tightly around his waist. “Oh you will come back, won’t you?_  
   
   
 _Killian grins, patting her back affectionately, but platonically._ Wouldn’t do to get too friendly with Smee’s girl, _he reasons wisely. “Thank you, love. I believe I speak for the entire band when I say we would be delighted to return.”_  
   
   
 _Ruby steps back, still beaming at him. “Wonderful! We already have other acts lined up for the next couple Saturdays, but maybe you could come back at the end of the month? She gives him a speculative look. “And maybe every other Saturday after?”_  
   
   
 _Killian laughs, pushing a hand through his hair. “I would be most willing, but I have a feeling someone might take issue with that arrangement.”_  
   
   
 _Ruby frowns, glancing around quickly at the upbeat crowd. “Who?” she asks, puzzled._  
   
   
This was far too easy,  _Killian thinks gleefully. He adopts a serious demeanor, like he is truly troubled by the topic, as to not make Ruby suspicious of his real intentions._  
   
   
 _“There was a young man at the table opposite the stage who was valiantly attempting to read, but it appeared he was hopelessly distracted,” Killian informs her solemnly._  
   
   
 _The worried look falls from her face as Ruby rolls her eyes exasperatedly. “Oh, don’t pay him any mind, Killian. That’s David.”_  
   
   
 _Killain’s brows lift in surprise. Suddenly, he can’t picture a more perfect name for anyone ever than David. “David? The same one you mentioned earlier as being a ‘godsend’?”_  
   
   
 _Ruby nods, still looking annoyed with her so-called godsend. “Yes. He’s our number one customer.” She laughs briefly, “Though I don’t think customer is even the right word. David’s like family around here. Like a brother. He comes in every day, even though all he orders is black coffee.” Ruby shakes her head now, a fond look in her eye. “I think he does it to make sure Mary Margaret and I don’t completely lose it from boredom. He comes in, talks to us for awhile, sits at his table and reads, and then heads on to work.”_  
   
   
Well isn’t that fucking adorable?  _Killian thinks. Aloud he says, “Well, he sounds lovely. But why did he seem so put out today?”_  
   
   
 _Another eye roll. Ruby waves a hand in irritation. “Oh because he’s a drama queen. And a stickler for routine. He was pouting because these concerts interfere with his VERY IMPORTANT reading and coffee sipping.”_  
   
   
 _Killian grins, inordinately pleased that his presence today apparently got under David’s skin. “So we shook him up, eh? Why’d he come in if he was displeased with the event?”_  
   
   
 _Ruby smiles sheepishly. “I might have threatened him a little bit if he didn’t. No way was I letting him skip out on the biggest day we’ve had here in years. We’ve never been this busy!” She sighs then, seeming maudlin. “I suppose that’s why David likes it here so much, though. He’s a bit of loner. I was hoping today would force him to put himself out there a bit, but all he did was sulk in the corner the whole time and then bail as soon as it was over. I worry about him being alone, you know?” She looks up at Killian, suddenly stricken.”And I have no idea why I’m telling you all of this, I’m so sorry.”_  
   
   
 _“No, no, it’s fine,” Killian rushes to reassure her, secretly thrilled with the information goldmine she turned out to be. “It’s obvious you care for him. You’re just concerned.”_  
   
   
 _Ruby nods earnestly. “I really am. And I did see him talking to you for a bit! So that’s something.”_  
   
   
Wasn’t it, though?  
   
   
 _“Well, I’d like a chance to win him over. For the band that is,” Killian quickly amends. “If we return some Saturday, will he be here?”_  
   
   
 _Ruby laughs musically. “If you come here any day around 7 a.m., he’ll be here. Except weekends. It’s more like 9 on weekends.” She shakes her head again, which seems to be her go-to reaction to David and his antics. “Another reason he was so distraught today. I wouldn’t let him come until 10.”_  
   
   
 _Jesus he’s adorable. So petulant._  
   
   
 _Killian quietly thrills at being given access to David’s apparently much regimented schedule. He immediately resolves to surprise his lovely loner tomorrow morning. Even if it means he has to rise at another ungodly hour._  
   
   
Killian is pulled from his recollecting by the opening up the Hut’s door. He glances up quickly, hopeful that perhaps David has returned.  
   
   
It isn’t David who comes rushing in, but a petite brunette girl that Killian vaguely remembers seeing at the show yesterday. He tamps down his disappointment as she hurries toward the counter, apparently not noticing Killain’s presence by the window. She smoothes her hair and checks her appearance in the small mirror behind the bar.  
   
   
“Ruby?” she calls out breathlessly, as she picks up the apron Killian had discarded earlier and pulls it on. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I forgot to set my alarm last night.” As she speaks, she pulls a mug from under the counter and begins to fill it with regular coffee, stirring in two sugars.  
   
   
Killian frowns slightly.  _Large, regular, no cream, two sugars._ That’s David’s order.   
   
   
 _What’s this, then?_  
   
   
As if confirming his thoughts, the girl calls out to Ruby again. “Has David been in yet?”  
   
   
“Just missed him, love.”  
   
   
The girl jumps, nearly sloshing coffee on herself. “Oh my goodness! I didn’t see you there,” she says, voice shaky from surprise.  
   
   
Killian pushes upright from where he was slouched against the window with his arms folded across his chest, and heads for the counter, offering the girl an apologetic (if insincere) smile as he goes. “So sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”  
   
   
She returns his smile as he nears, and Killian can’t help but notice she’s a beautiful girl.  
   
   
“Oh don’t apologize! I should be more aware of my surroundings.” She begins to wipe the spilled coffee from the counter as she asks, “Have you been helped?”  
   
   
Killian starts to reply, but is interrupted by Ruby.  
   
   
“Don’t worry about him, Mary. He’s been around all morning, being a pain in the ass.”  
   
   
Killian affects an offended mien as Mary ( _Margaret, Ruby’s friend,_ he suddenly remembers.  _And David’s too, apparently,_ he thinks with something that might be jealousy) looks shocked at Ruby’s language.  
   
   
Ruby comes around the counter to give Killian a playful shove and he wraps an arm around her, messing up her hair. “Don’t you remember him from yesterday, Mary?” she asks.  
   
   
Mary Margaret frowns thoughtfully before recognition dawns on her delicate features. “Oh! Of course. You’re Killian, right? From the band yesterday.” She shakes her head, seemingly bemused with herself. “I can’t believe I didn’t remember.”  
   
   
“Well, you were preoccupied with fixing your coffee. No worries. Nothing makes sense before the first cup of the day, eh?” He gives her a wink. Though he doesn’t feel like winking. He feels like scowling, though he has no reason to. But he can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this girl’s attention to David than simple customer service.  
   
   
She laughs brightly, and Killian grits his teeth. Damn but she’s delightful.  
   
   
“Oh no, this isn’t for me! I just usually have David’s coffee ready for him when he comes in.” She wilts slightly, then. “But you said he’d already been in?”  
   
   
 _Back off, Barbie,_ he thinks possessively. Bloody hell, he was far too gone on David already.  
   
   
“Aye, he was in a little while ago,” Killian gives Mary Margaret a wolfish grin. “No worries, I took good care of him in your absence.”  
   
   
Ruby scoffs loudly while Mary Margaret looks confused. “You-you took care of him?” she asks, sounding lost.  
   
   
Killian nods. “Aye,” he says again, offering no other details. Let her assume what she will.  
   
   
Unfortunately, Ruby spoils that plan. She rolls her eyes and begins to explain. “He uses that term loosely. I left him out here while I filed some delivery receipts, and told him to call for me when David got in.” She gives Killian a look then and he sticks his tongue out in response. “He didn’t, of course, and instead pretended to be our newest barista.” Killian laughs at her weary tone. “He fixed David the most horrible combination of…everything imaginable.” Her face looks pained as she recalls. “Did he even try it, Killian? I didn’t stick around to watch.”  
   
   
Killian glares at her, feigning insult. “Of course he did. And he declared it delightful. And,” he adds smugly, “he said if I weren’t already so gainfully employed by Jolly Roger, I had a future as a ‘barista god’, I believe he called it.”   
   
   
Ruby laughs loudly, covering her face with her hands. Mary Margaret, however, seems perturbed. “David said that?” she directs the question at Killian.  
   
   
Killian nods earnestly at her. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he?”  
   
   
She shakes her head, still seeming disbelieving. “He just doesn’t talk like that. He’s very serious.”  
   
   
Killian grins again, and can’t resist baiting her just a bit more. “Well, perhaps I bring out the playful side in him.” He glances at his watch as her brow furrows, pretending to be surprised at what he finds. “Oh my, is that the time? I must be going.” He bends to press a kiss to Ruby’s cheek, much the same way David had yesterday. “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure.”   
   
   
With that, Killian heads for the door. Ruby cheerfully calls “see ya later!” and Mary Margaret, much less enthusiastically, offers a soft “goodbye.”  
   
   
Killian smiles to himself as he walks down the street in the same direction David had gone earlier. All in all, it had been a wonderful morning. His heart skips slightly as he, once again, thinks of David’s delightful laugh.  
   
   
 _Completely worth being up at the asscrack of dawn for._


	13. Chapter 13

David feels like he spends the next couple of days in a haze. A pleasant haze, but a haze nonetheless.   
   
   
He didn’t get a moment’s worth of work done Sunday afternoon after seeing Killian at the Hut. He’d sat his desk all day and attempted to work, but every time he’d pull a sheaf of paper towards him or open an email or do  _anything_ , it would remind him of something Killian had done or said and he would be lost in daydreaming again.  
   
   
Monday and Tuesday aren’t quite as bad. Monday he’s only distracted by thoughts of Killian about 300 times, and Tuesday he’s sure he halves the number. If this pattern continues, he’ll be back to normal by the end of the week.  
   
   
 But despite his intentions to continue on as usual, David can’t help the surge of disappoint he feels those mornings when he walks into the Hut and is greeted by Mary Margaret or Ruby. Though he’d never admit it, there’s only one voice he wants to hear calling good morning.   
   
   
On Wednesday morning, David attempts to give himself a firm talking-to as he walks towards the shop. The morning is brisk, so David walks quickly, hands shoved into the pockets of his favorite brown jacket, breath misting in the air. Truth told, David loves days like these. Bright sun and crisp air are the perfect conditions, in his mind.  _I wonder if Killian likes the fall?_  
   
   
David shakes his head, annoyed with himself.  _Look, you don’t even know this guy. You’ve talked to him a grand total of twice. Once, he basically made fun of you for gawping at him and the second time, he tried to poison you with battery acid disguised as coffee._  
   
   
But he’d also made David laugh; he’d smiled, joked, smoldered, and been basically irresistible.  
   
   
 _And now I can’t get him out of my head_  
   
   
David hasn’t been this infatuated with someone in as long as he can remember.  _Possibly ever._  The people he’d dated previously had really only been for recreation. He dated a girl throughout high school simply to have someone to go to dances and parties with. He’d taken a year off after graduation to work while he helped his parents sell their farm and get settled into a small home in town, and he’d somewhat seriously dated their realtor’s daughter in that time. In college, he’d somehow fumbled his way into a relationship with his RA, and it had been his first experience with a man. While fun (and enlightening), it was shortlived, and David couldn’t say he was disappointed. Relationships, he’d decided, were way too much damn work.  
   
   
Especially when he hadn’t quite worked out what it meant that he was attracted to both men and woman. Which he was. Which also made everything so much more complicated.  
   
   
 _Though it may not be a problem anymore,_ he thinks wryly,  _as I doubt I’ll ever be attracted to anyone else again now that I’ve got Killian to compare them to._    
   
   
It was just, everything about Killian was attractive to David. The physical, obviously ( _he’s too damn gorgeous and he knows it_ ) but also his mischievous personality. His sass delighted David, but underneath all the bluster, David could tell he had a good heart. His eyes were too kind to suggest anything else.  
   
   
Their banter on Sunday had invigorated David in a way nothing other than his work at the shelter ever had. It made his head spin and his heart pound and his face smile. And he wanted more of it.  
   
   
Giving up on the self flagellation,  _it’s no use anyway,_  David reaches the entrance to the Hut and walks in, valiantly trying to pretend he won’t be disappointed when there’s no Irish brogue to greet him.  
   
   
But there is a surprise. Though Ruby had reported that the shop had seen an increase in traffic since Saturday (“Isn’t that amazing, David? It actually worked!), the Hut was still pretty deserted when David strolled in at 7 sharp. Today, however, there’s a young man in a red beanie seated at the counter, talking quietly to Ruby as she leans across the bar towards him.  
   
   
David’s eyebrows raise involuntarily, and he clears his throat loudly. The guy jumps and spins around on his stool, but Ruby just grins at David from across the room.   
   
   
“Hi David!” she calls happily. “You remember William, right?”  
   
   
David narrows his eyes slightly at the greaser at the counter, feeling a vague twinge of recognition but unable to put his finger on it. “Can’t say I do,” he says, voice maybe harsher than he intends. He’s crazily protective of Ruby and he’s not sure he likes the look of this guy.  _Needs a haircut,_ he thinks snobbishly, running his eyes over the man.  _And some new clothes._ His nose wrinkles in distaste as he takes in the ratty beanie. “And Ruby, shouldn’t you be in class?” he adds, remembering her schedule.  
   
   
Ruby rolls her eyes at him (which she does a lot, come to think of it. David needs to remind her that they’ll get stuck like that). “Canceled, Dad. And yes you do remember William. From Saturday? He was on the stage, less than 10 feet from you?”  
   
   
 _Yeah the only person I noticed the whole day definitely wasn’t this guy._  
   
   
Of course, David doesn’t say what he’s thinking. Instead, he crosses the room, hand extended politely. “Right, sorry. William, was it? I’m David, a friend of Ruby’s.”  
   
   
William nods as he gets to his feet, reaching out to take David’s proffered hand.  _Firm handshake,_  David thinks approvingly. Maybe there’s hope for him yet. Plus, Killian obviously likes him, if they’re in a band together. And possibly (definitely) foolishly, David already trusts Killian’s judgment.  
   
   
“Yeah Ruby’s told me about you. And I saw you on Saturday. You seemed into the show, which was cool,” William says, giving David a tentative smile.  
   
   
 _Fuck._ For some reason it had never occurred to David that the other band members might have noticed his game of look-away with Killian.  
   
   
David forces a smile in response. “Uh yeah, you guys were really good,” he mumbles, embarrassed.  
   
   
“Thanks man. We were super pumped. It was killer,” William drawls lazily, which David supposes could be charming. If you’re into greasy stoners. Which, unfortunately, David knows Ruby is.  
   
   
Ruby is watching their exchange with a beaming smile. She reaches across the bar to hand David a cup of coffee, which he tilts at her in thanks.  
   
   
“Well it was nice to meet you William. If you guys don’t mind, I’ve got some reading to catch up on.” David gestures towards his usual table with the book in his hand.  
   
   
William nods. “Yeah, you seemed into books and shit when I saw you Saturday. Enjoy man,” he says in that torpid voice of his, before adding, “oh, and call me Smee. Everyone but Ruby does.” He glances at her quickly before a light blush stains his cheeks. Ruby giggles and David suddenly decides that Smee can stay. He shoots Ruby a discreet thumbs up and she beams at him once more.  
   
   
David leaves them to their… _talking_  and heads for his table. Once he’s made it through a few pages of his book, he hears the door to the shop open and glances up to see several people entering. Ruby wasn’t wrong, then. Business is picking up.  
   
   
When she gets busy with her sudden influx of customers, David sees Ruby wave Smee in the direction of his table. He groans internally, earmarking his page with a resigned sigh. Smee walks his way with a sheepish smile, asking if he can sit. David nods.  _Might as well get to know him._  
   
   
“Sorry man. But Ruby said I need to get out of her way. And you’re the only other person here I know. Sorta.”  
   
   
David laughs slightly. “No problem. So what’s the deal with you and Ruby?” he asks, trying to seem politely inquisitive rather than keenly interested.  
   
   
Smee shrugs, but David sees the redness rise in his cheeks again. “I saw her at that record store in town. And she’s just…really awesome, you know?” he says, seeming embarrassed.  
   
   
David nods, encouragingly. “Yeah she is. And she seems to think you are, too.” He clears his throat, ready to be finished with the topic. “So that’s cool.”  
   
   
Smee smiles. “For sure. So what’d you think of the band?” he asks suddenly.  
   
   
David fights his own blush, thoughts jumping to Killian again.  _I thought your singer was fucking sexy._ “Really good,” he says, hoping his voice sounds less strained to Smee than it does to himself. “You guys have talent.”  
   
   
Smee looks pleased. “Thanks man. Like, I know you were reading and shit but I appreciated you paying attention. Feels good to reach people, you know?”  
   
   
“You had a really good sound,” David replies, thoughts still with Killian. “Easy to listen to. And your uh-,” he stammers slightly, not sure he should say what he’s about to, “your singer has a voice on him.” That damn blush finally breaks through, and David feels his cheeks grow hot.  
   
   
Smee’s eyebrows disappear under his shaggy bangs where they hang out from under that hideous hat. “Killian? Yeah he’s bitchin. And he can be a bitch too, but you know.” He shrugs again. “We love him.”  
   
   
 _Killian? A bitch? No, never,_ David thinks sarcastically. To Smee he says, “Really? I talked to him a little. He was…interesting.”  
   
   
Smee laughs, shaking his head a little. “That’s one word for it. Like, he’s super talented and big hearted, but he’s such a shit sometimes too. He’s…” Smee pauses, apparently searching for the word. “Incorrigible,” he says finally. “Like he just says shit. And does shit. And doesn’t really care. But Graham (our bass player) says it’s because he’s ‘compensating for a loneliness complex,’” he puts air quotes around the last words.  
   
   
David’s heart twists, troubled that anyone as amazing as Killian could ever be lonely. Surely people were lined up to get even a moment of his time? David certainly would be. “Well, I hate to hear that,” he finally manages, hoping his thoughts aren’t plain on his face. “He seems great. Uh, you know. From the little bit I’ve talked to him.”  
   
   
Smee gives him a calculating look, but David averts his gaze as Ruby approaches the table. “Whoa,” she laughs. “David, have we EVER been that busy on a Wednesday?”  
   
   
David shakes his head, grinning at her excitement. “I don’t think we’ve been that busy ever,” he says truthfully.  
   
   
“Well it’s about time, I say. Did you two find something to talk about?” she asks, laying a hand on Smee’s shoulder. Smee smiles up at her and David suddenly feels like perhaps he has a bit of that loneliness complex Smee accused Killian of.  _Maybe we could help each other with that._  
   
   
When it seems like Ruby and Smee have gotten lost in looking at each other, David assumes Ruby isn’t actually waiting for an answer to her question. He stands up, eager to get out of their immediate (disgustingly sweet) vicinity.  
   
   
“Gotta go, Rubes. Nice seeing you, Smee,” he addresses them both. Neither looks up and it makes him smile wanly.  
   
   
As he reaches the door, he hears Ruby sigh “Bye David.” He rolls his eyes good-naturedly.  
   
   
On the walk to work, David ponders what Smee revealed about Killian. Some of it David already assumed (he had known Killian was a shit from the moment he met him) but some of it he never expected.  _How could he ever be lonely? He’s perfect._  
   
   
With a weary sigh, David accepts the fact that he’s probably not going to get much work done again today. All because of that scruffy singer with the beautiful smile and (apparently) lonely heart.


	14. Chapter 14

Towards the middle of the week after he met David, Killian feels like he might be going a little crazy. His every waking thought is basically consumed by thoughts of the blue eyed devil. He’ll drink a cup of coffee and think,  _I wonder if David’s had his yet._  Someone will laugh and he finds himself comparing it to David’s _, not nearly as sexy._  
   
   
It’s a predicament in which Killian doesn’t usually find himself. Normally, when he finds someone attractive, he works his charm and they succumb to his advances fairly quickly. And then his attraction wanes almost as quickly. He’s stuck by a few of them for a short while, but it ends when Killian inevitably grows bored. Because when he grows bored, he strays. And when he strays, he’s never careful. Then he gets caught, and any number of unpleasant rows ensue. So the idea of a relationship isn’t one Killian typically relishes. He’s most assuredly a one or two night stand type of person.  
   
   
While Killian is fairly certain he could get David to sleep with him (he had initiated the very intentional eye contact at the show, after all), he surprises himself by desiring something more. He doesn’t want David in a one-off fashion. Even though he’s only spent a short amount of time in his presence, Killian is convinced he wants David in a more permanent way. A “barefooted David sipping coffee in his kitchen on a Saturday morning, proud David watching Jolly Roger perform from the back of a smoky bar, distracting Killian with his damn eyes, guaranteed New Years kiss, fights followed by makeup sex in the hallway” sort of way.   
   
   
And this knowledge makes it even harder for Killian to keep himself away from David.  
   
   
Killian realizes he could put himself out of his misery and just go see David at the Hut, but a man mustn’t appear too eager. He has to play the game. He can’t project the image that Killian Jones is easily had.  _Though David could have me six ways from Sunday._  
   
   
Still, Killian persists in his supercilious act. He busies himself with new music and trashy daytime television. He rides his bike for long ways and rushes to the apartment when Graham texts him that August’s girlfriend discovered the instagram photos and they’re having it out on the front lawn. But by Wednesday the strain of denying himself what he really wants to be doing finally catches up to him, and he finds himself desperate for a drink and a distraction. He forces himself to wait until an acceptable drinking hour, and then phones his mates.  
   
   
Smee is the only one who answers and he agrees to meet Killian at the Apollo. Killian had briefly considered suggesting they find a different bar, due to the overeager bartender situation at the Apollo, but can’t bring himself to make the effort it would require. He just wants to get drunk and relax with Smee. Well no. He wants to go see David. But this is the only acceptable alternative.  
   
   
When he enters the bar, Killian glances toward the front, praying to whoever will listen that Tamara isn’t working tonight. When he doesn’t see her behind the counter, he breathes a relieved sigh. Smee is already seated at one of the booths off to the side, but Killian heads to the bar to order a drink first. His situation is too dire to wait for one of the waitresses to come by the booth.  
   
   
The bartender offers him nothing more than a polite smile (no flirting or innuendos), for which Killian is grateful. Briefly abandoning his beloved rum in favor of something that’ll do the trick quicker, Killian takes a shot (or three) before ordering two glasses of Contessa for him and Smee.  _Or perhaps just for me._  
   
   
Tipping his head in thanks to the lovely girl behind the bar, Killian heads for the booth where Smee is watching him impatiently. He grins as at him as he slides across the bench. “Evening,” he says with overly false cheeriness.  
   
   
Smee rolls his eyes ( _I hope they get stuck like that)_. “’Bout time, drunky. What’s with the shots?” he asks, reaching for the second glass of rum. Killian frowns; he had decided they were both for him on his way over. But he reluctantly hands it over, looking around for the waitress in hopes of ordering a replacement. She spots his attempt and waves absently. Not exactly what he was looking for.  
   
   
Bringing his attention back to his companion, Killian finds Smee is looking at him impatiently and realizes he never answered the question posed of him. “Been a bit of a long week,” he replies with a grimace.  
   
   
Smee raises an eyebrow, a trait he learned from Killian ( _I do it better_ ). “It’s Wednesday,” he says in that goddamn condescending voice of his. “And you don’t work. So what could possibly have made it so long?”  
   
   
Killian sneers at him before sipping his rum reverently. “I’ve had a lot on my mind. I’m sort of-“ he pauses, unsure he wants to share his dilemma quite yet. But the shots have loosened his tongue, so he finds himself unable to halt the words completely. “There’s someone who’s been…plaguing me a bit.”  
   
   
Smee nods understandingly. “The guy from the coffee chop,” he says nonchalantly.   
   
   
Killian chokes on his latest sip of rum and Smee reaches across the table to thump him soundly on the back. He coughs violently, though he cares less for his own near death experience than Smee’s casual mentioning of David. Still sputtering, eyes watering, Killian gasps out an incredulous “What?”  
   
   
Smee ignores the question, seeming more concerned for Killian’s health than his desperate inquiry. “You okay over there? Breathing okay?”  
   
   
Killian waves a hand impatiently, though his throat is still burning like a bitch. “Yes yes, I’m fine. Now what was that you said?” he insists.  _I had to have misheard._  
   
   
Smee shrugs absently, apparently deeming Killian well enough that he can stop hitting him on the back. He picks up his drink and takes a slow swallow. Just as Killian is about to reach out and strangle him, he answers. “I just asked if that David guy from the coffee shop is the one who’s been on your mind. You know,” he adds helpfully, “pretty tall, blue eyes, apparently really fucking loves reading.”  
   
   
Killian stares at him in bewilderment, his mind racing.  _How could he possibly know about him? How does he know his name? How how how?_ his brain shouts, then,  _what else does he know? Did he see us looking at each other? What is going on?_ Killian doesn’t appreciate being had.  
   
   
Despite the multitude of questions poised on his lips, Killian voices none of them. He employs Smee’s own avoidance technique by taking a tentative gulp of his rum. He leans back against the booth, attempting to appear at ease despite the tension coursing through him. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”  
   
   
He’s treated to a massive eye roll this time, accompanied by a disbelieving scoff. “Oh please. You nearly killed yourself at the mention of him just now. And knew something was up when you didn’t throw even one flirty vibe at that bartender.”  
   
   
Killian scowls, but is saved from replying by the sudden appearance of the waitress he’d tried to flag down earlier.  _About time,_  he thinks nastily.  
   
   
“What can I get you?” she asks in a bored tone. Normally Killian would take her uninterested demeanor as something as a challenge. He’d try and bring her out of her shell with outrageous flirting and joking. But right now he doesn’t want to make her laugh; he just wants her to bring him a drink.   
   
   
“Rum,” he replies shortly. She raises an eyebrow at Smee who says, more politely than Killian, “Same.” With a nod, the waitress turns on her heel to head to the bar and Smee turns to Killian, who shifts uncomfortably.  
   
   
“It’s him, isn’t it?” When Killian starts to shake his head, Smee presses on impatiently. “Don’t be dumb, Killian. I saw the way you were looking at him on Saturday. And he turned red as my hat when he talked about you this morning. It’s obvious.”  
   
   
Killian’s head snaps up from where he’d been drawing rings on the table with the condensation from his glass. “What,” he croaks unbelievingly. “You saw him today? He-,“ Killian flushes slightly, a rare occurrence for him. Killian doesn’t do embarrassment. “He talked about me?” he says, cursing himself for the hopeful note that inflects the question.  _He talked about me?_ he thinks again, with a surge of something that feels suspiciously like joy.  
   
   
Smee gives him a look like he thinks Killian might be mentally challenged. “So we’re admitting it’s him now?” he says, which Killian responds to with a glare. Smee snorts a laugh before continuing. “Yes I saw him today. He came into the Hut while I was visiting Ruby. Apparently he spends a lot of time there.” He pauses as the waitress brings them their drinks, and Killian feels like he might explode.  
   
   
“Yes thank you,” he snaps irritably when she lingers much longer than necessary. She glares at him before huffing away.  
   
   
“That wasn’t very nice,” Smee muses as he reaches for his new glass.  
   
   
“If you so much as touch that before you answer my other question, I’ll break your hand,” Killian growls at him.  
   
   
“Jesus Killian, what’s gotten into you?” Smee asks in surprise. “Yes he talked about you. We were talking about the band and he just ‘casually’,” he puts air quotes around the word, “mentioned that you were super talented or something gross like that. Then he said you two had talked and that you were interesting. And I told him you were an arrogant shit.” He finishes his recount with a shrug. “Now can I drink?”  
   
   
Killian waves his hand imperiously, ignoring Smee’s slight on his personality.  _David thinks_   _I’m interesting, huh?_  
   
   
“And that’s it?” Killian asks, desperate for more.  
   
   
“Basically. I mean, he said you had a ‘voice on you’” again with the air quotes, “which I interpreted as you have an ass on you.” Smee gives Killian a look. “It’s not what he said, though. It’s how he said it.” He nods wisely. “Dude’s into you.”  
   
   
Killian feels dizzy, like he’s standing at high place, looking down. “Yeah?” he breathes, uncaring how it makes him look. It’s only Smee, after all.  
   
   
Smee smirks at him then, clearly picking up on Killian’s tone. “Yeah. And I don’t need to ask how  _you_ feel about him. You dig him too.”  
   
   
Killian grins then, bigger and brighter than he has in days. “Aye,” he says, heart pounding at the “too”. “Too”, implying that the feeling is mutual. He and David dig each other. “Too”.  
   
   
Smee watches Killian over the rim of his glass. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”  
   
   
Killian inhales deeply. “I’m not sure,” he admits truthfully.  
   
   
Smee seems surprised. He isn’t used to Killian being unsure of anything. “What do you want to do?”  
   
   
Killian raises an eyebrow suggestively and Smee laughs. “Besides that,” he says exasperatedly.   
   
   
Killian shakes his head. “I don’t know! I don’t know how to go about pursuing someone with the intention to do more than just bed them.” He can’t recall a single instance where that wasn’t his main objective.  
   
   
Smee gives him a speculative look. “Damn, he’s got you good.”  
   
   
Killian groans dejectedly. “Tell me about it. I just want to see him, you know?” he asks despairingly. He wants to hear David’s laugh and listen to his voice and watch his eyes.  
   
   
Smee lifts one shoulder in response. “So see him.”  
   
   
“You know nothing of playing it cool,” Killian responds dismissively.  
   
   
“And you know nothing of relationships,” Smee retorts. “Why would you play it cool in some false display of…what? Aloofness? When you could be with him.” He shrugs fully this time. “Seems dumb.”  
   
   
Killian eyes him dubiously. “You think?”  
   
   
“I know. Just go to the Hut, talk to him. Invite him to see us play, something. Just let him know you’re thinking about him, man. No one’s gonna wait around for you to get over your fucking huge ego.”  
   
   
The words sting, but Killian knows Smee has a point. And a bloody brilliant idea. A direct approach. Make sure David knows exactly what Killian is up to.   
   
   
Killian grins and after a moment, Smee grins back. Picking up his drink, he raises it to Smee in a salute (“To getting over ego”) before draining it in one go.  
   
   
Then he and Smee put their heads together and come up with a plan to get David in Killian’s presence.  
   
   
And his bed, but that part comes later.  _Not too much later, though,_ Killian thinks decisively.


	15. Chapter 15

On Saturday morning, David enters the Hut tentatively, resigned to enduring whichever act the girls have rustled up today. He’s much too early, but has accepted the fact that he’s going to be around all day.  
   
   
Instead of one of the girls, he's pleasantly surprised by a cheery greeting of "Hullo, David!" from the voice he’s been waiting to hear. At first he thinks he’s imagining it, as he has every morning this week. But this time, the voice is accompanied by the radiant smile that’s haunted David’s dreams. Or blessed them. He hasn’t made up his mind about that.  
   
   
"Killian," David says, his eyebrows shooting up and heart rate following suit. "What're you doing here?"  
   
   
From his seat at David’s favorite table, Killian repeats his pouting performance from Sunday. "I'm starting to wonder if I should be offended by the fact that that's the only greeting you can muster up for me," he replies, pitifully.   
   
   
David laughs.  _Fucking asshole is too damn adorable._  "No, no. It's just, I'm not used to  _anyone_  being in here, let alone the same guy three times in a week." And David doesn’t dare ponder the implications of that for fear he’ll be disappointed. Turns out, he needn’t worry.  
   
   
Killian's grin makes an appearance then, and he and David just stare at each other for a moment.   
Finally Killian murmurs, "Perhaps there's a reason I keep coming back."  
   
   
David's stomach leaps, but he deflects the innuendo. Turning away to hang his coat on the rack by the door, he nods wisely. "Ah yes. Fleshing out that whole barista god thing, right?" He forces a normal tone.  
   
   
Killian laughs delightedly. "Something like that," he says with a knowing look. "Besides, you promised I'd see you around, and since this is the only 'around' you ever seem to be, I reasoned that you must have meant here."  
   
   
David walks towards the table, hoping it comes across as causal stroll but feeling it’s more like twitchy schlep. Killian pushes out the second chair with his foot once he gets close. David sits, feeling oddly pleased that Killian had chosen the same table David always did.  _Did he remember?_ he thinks hopefully.  
   
   
Once he's seated, David looks up to find Killian's eyes fixed on his face. Refusing to blush, he says "What's up?" and Killian smiles softly.   
   
   
"I have a question for you, David."  
   
   
David is immediately brought back to the day, just over a week ago, when he sat at this same table while Mary Margaret asked him a question. Mortifyingly, he feels that if Killian were to ask him the same question, he would have a completely different answer. What a terrifying thought that is.  _I don't even know this guy!_ Except he does, a little. He knows he’s brash and entertaining and talented and sassy and gorgeous and charming and completely ridiculous and he’s gotten under David’s skin like no one ever has. And maybe that’s all he needs to know.  
   
   
"Go for it," David eventually says, bracing himself for whatever’s to come.   
   
   
Killian watches David for a moment longer, eyes drifting across his face slowly. Finally he raises them to meet David’s own. "How is it that we've never met before? This is such a small town, and I frequent everywhere there is to frequent. Why have I never seen you out and about?" Killian asks, leaning in close to David. "And don't say that I probably have and just didn't notice," he adds, reaching out and running a finger down David's cheek, "because I definitely would have noticed you, Dave."  
   
   
David's entire body reacts to Killian's light touch, and he wants to lean into it so badly. But instead he can only seem to manage to clench his jaw and grit out, "My name is David."  
   
   
Killian's brilliant smile fills David's view for a moment, and David finds it hard to breathe. He scoots his chair back to put some distance between himself and the damnably gorgeous musician, ignoring the twinge of loss he feels at breaking their contact.  
   
   
“As you wish, David,” Killian breathes out, causing David to close his eyes briefly. Tension hums between them, growing more intense by the second. Somewhat desperately, David tries to adopt his usual surly attitude. He crosses his arms against his chest, staring down at the table. It's a necessary defense mechanism because he knows if he doesn't kill the flirty vibe, he's going to do something rash.   
   
   
Like pull Killian across the table by his turned up collar and kiss that stupid smile off his face.   
   
   
"The Hut is the place I frequent," David finally shrugs, in late reply to Killian's earlier question.  "And by looking at you, I guess I don't have to ask what sort of establishments you grace with your presence."   
   
   
David glances quickly over Killian's outfit of boots, tight jeans, v-neck shirt (way too low for David’s sanity) and leather jacket with said flipped collar.  _Way to be jerk, David. He looks incredible and you know it._  
   
   
"Casting assumptions now, are we? You know what they say about assuming, David," Killian replies, seeming confused by the shift in mood, but purposefully stressing the second syllable in David's name.     
   
   
David shrugs again. "I'm already an ass. And if the leather jacket fits..."  
   
   
Killian's smile is more of a grimace now, and he shakes his head. "While it’s true that I spend a lot of my time at some of the...er,  _seedier_  places around town, it's not what you seem to think. You ass," he adds, a wry smile playing about his lips.   
   
   
Trying not to laugh, David leans back in his chair and raises one eyebrow in what he hopes is a passable imitation of Killian. "Oh?" he says.   
   
   
Killian smirks ( _His mouth is so expressive,_ David thinks, then,  _Stop thinking about his mouth!_ )  
   
   
"While I am often found at one bar or another around here, it's all marketing, mate," Killian says, waving his hand dismissively. He picks up his cup of coffee and watches David over the rim.  
   
   
David frowns, not quite understanding. Possibly because Killian’s eyes cause him to lose all sense of reason. "Marketing?" he questions dubiously.   
   
   
Killian nods emphatically, gaining enthusiasm for his explanation. "Aye, marketing. I'm in a band, no? And where do small town bands get most of their gigs from?" He watches David closely, waiting for the obvious reply.   
   
   
David sighs, reluctant to admit that Killian has a point. He lowers his eyes to the table and picks at a bit of chipping paint. Anything to avoid looking at Killian's smug, but gorgeous, face. "Bars, I suppose," he finally mumbles.   
   
   
Killian grins, triumphant. "So you see Dave...id," he adds belatedly, "I need to visit those places often. Make myself known to the regulars. Make some friends, do a little flirting. That way, before you know it, the owners are calling you up, saying your band's been requested to play this Saturday. And if they just  _happen_  to serve an excellent rum well, it's merely a side benefit."  
   
   
David shakes his head in amusement.  _Of course he drinks rum. And names his band Jolly Roger. Fucking pirate complex._  “I’m sure your band appreciates your sacrifice,” he says, mock sincerely.  
   
   
Killian’s eyes light up the way they seem to whenever David does something he enjoys and he smiles at David winningly. And then they’re back to staring at each other. Which David could probably do for days on end and never grow tired. He wouldn’t even need to blink.  
   
   
Suddenly, Mary Margaret appears at David’s elbow. “Good morning David!” she says happily, but eyes the two of them suspiciously. David jumps slightly and Killian grins at him.  
   
   
Embarrassed at being caught basically eye-fucking a near stranger, David blushes and averts his gaze. To his further dismay, Killian does not. He smiles even wider, taking in David’s red cheeks with a hungry look. David kicks him under the table. To which the bastard just tips his head with a wink.  _Fucking asshole, that’s all there is to it._  
   
   
“Hi Mary,” David says, again striving hopelessly for a normal tone. “How are you?”  _Hopefully blind,_  he thinks sarcastically.  _You’d have to be to miss the look the fucking asshole is shooting over here._  
   
   
“Happy to see you! I haven’t all week,” she says, shaking her head like it’s unfathomable.  
   
   
David shifts guiltily, a movement Killian catches. He narrows his eyes at David speculatively. Truth be told, David had been avoiding Mary Margaret. His guilt over rebuffing her advances coupled with his growing infatuation with Killian made him feel terrible. Just over a week ago he had told her he had no intention of being in a relationship, and he here was considering pursuing one with a man he’d known a week. Shameless, is what he is. So he avoided the Hut when he knew she’d be in.  
   
   
“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been getting here earlier, I guess. Trying to beat the rush,” he admits, half-truthfully. He had been avoiding the influx of patrons as well as Mary.  
   
   
She laughs, even though he hadn’t said anything particularly funny. “At least there’s a rush to avoid now!” she says, laying a hand on his arm.  
   
   
And Killian glares. David is taken aback by the venomous look.  _Whoa. What’s that about?_  
   
   
Fortunately, Mary Margaret doesn’t seem to notice Killian’s uncharacteristically dark face. “I’ll just go get your coffee, David.” She glances at Killian. “Need a refill?” she asks politely.  
   
   
He smiles at her, but David could spot it was fake from a mile away. He knows what Killian’s eyes look like when he smiles. And isn’t that a thought?  
   
   
“No thanks, love,” he says, before turning back to David, effectively dismissing her. David smiles at her to cover for Killian’s rudeness. She smiles back as she leaves and soon returns with his cup. “Holler at me if you need anything else,” she says brightly as she heads for the back room. David turns to reprimand Killian for his rudeness (Mary Margaret is his friend, after all) but he doesn’t get the chance.  
   
   
"And  _speaking_  of playing shows on Saturday," Killian continues as if they’d never been interrupted, and David struggles to remember what they were talking about. The eyebrow quirk finally makes an appearance, and David notes that Killian manages it far better than he did. "My band is playing at the Apollo tonight. What say you come down?" Killian asks, batting his eyelashes at David in what he apparently thinks is a coquettish fashion.   
   
   
David flushes slightly, damn it. Though he desperately wants to accept, for some reason David finds himself searching for a reason to decline.  _Old habits die hard, I suppose._    
   
   
"Well I uh, that is, I think I might have," he stammers.   
   
   
Killian makes a disapproving noise. "Come on, mate! I'm just asking you to come hear us play," the damned eyebrow raises again, "Or should I say  _see_  us play, since you couldn't seem to stop looking last time." Killian grins, clearly pleased with himself and his observations.   
   
   
David scowls in return, unwilling to let him get away with being so damn smug all the time. "Well, your bass player is pretty hot. Hard to look away from that," he replies flippantly, before he can stop himself.  _Shit_  
   
   
Killian's grin falters, and he narrows his eyes. "Graham?" he says, with the same venom that infused his glare from before.   
   
   
 _Wait, is that jealously? Interesting._  David decides to test the theory. Nodding earnestly, he replies "Yeah, that guy. Nice name too." To be honest, David wouldn’t know the guy if walked through the door, but Killian doesn’t need to know that.  
   
   
Killian's eyes narrow further, and he practically spits out, "I'll have to tell him you appreciate the view."  
   
   
It's David's turn to grin now as he thinks,  _definitely jealous. Wow._  He nods again. "Yeah why don't you give him my number while you're at it?" David pushes just a bit more, enjoying himself far too much.   
   
   
David is expecting a glare and a snarled reply, looking forward to it really ( _he's cute when he's mad)_ , but instead, Killian's face suddenly splits back into a grin, this one more mischievous than David has seen.   
   
   
"Well now, that would require you first giving your number to me," Killian says, eyes dancing. "I'll be  _sure_  to pass it along to Graham. Scouts honor."   
   
   
 _Shit,_ David thinks again,  _walked right into that one._ He holds both hands up defensively. "No that's okay, I was just joking." He definitely doesn’t want to go down this road.   
   
   
“Oh?” Killian replies, eyes dancing impishly. “Well, I’m sure Graham will be disappointed. Perhaps you should come down to the show tonight, just to make sure you don’t want me giving him that number.”  
   
   
David opens his mouth to reject the offer again, but stops suddenly. Why should he say no when all he wants to do is say yes? “Yeah okay,” he says, watching Killian closely.  
   
   
And fuck if it wasn’t worth it just to see that disbelieving smile.  
   
   
“Yeah?” Killian repeats excitedly. “Cheers David, I was hoping you would say yes.” He begins speaking very quickly, and David is enthralled with the delighted look on his face. He has yet to see him so open. Normally Killian is all smirky looks and teasing words and David can’t tell when he’s being serious or when he’s fucking with David. But now he seems so genuinely enthusiastic it makes David’s heart hurt.  _He really wanted me to come,_  he thinks, even more satisfied with his decision.  
   
   
Meanwhile Killian is rambling “we’re on at 10, so you needn’t get there any time before. Unless you’d like to come meet the band?” He gives David a hopeful look and David thinks,  _why the hell not? Go big or go home._ So he nods, and Killian’s responding grin has David’s head swimming. “Excellent. So come down ‘round 9, yeah?”  
   
   
David nods again, willing to do anything that will keep Killian looking at him like that. Except maybe not all the time. He already feels drunk on Killian’s smiles.  _Should probably take off now._  
   
   
“I’m looking forward to it,” David says earnestly. “But I better go put  a couple hours in at work if I’m gonna be out that late tonight.” He needs a little time to process the idea of spending an entire evening in Killian’s presence.    
   
   
For once, Killian doesn’t seem distraught by his leaving (probably because they’ll see each other again shortly) so he merely says “Of course. Get your ducks in a row, Dave. Id,” he adds hurriedly, grinning as David opens his mouth to correct him. “Just know if you leave now, you’ll miss today’s performance.” He winks exaggeratedly. “I hear it’s poetry readings.”  
   
   
David makes an extremely disappointed face, and Killian laughs loudly.  
   
   
David stands, laying a tentative hand on Killian’s shoulder. “I’ll see you later, then,” he says, suddenly nervous.  
   
   
Killian catches his hand as he pulls it away, and presses a gentle kiss to the center of his palm. “I can hardly wait,” he replies softly, eyes unfathomable.  
   
   
 _Fucking asshole_ , David thinks as he gets all over goosebumps. But he’s smiling as he thinks it.  
   
   
And his palm doesn’t stop tingling for several hours afterwards.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Killian's fairly certain all of his band members are plotting to kill him. Individually. If it were a collaborative effort they'd have accomplished it by now, he's sure.   
   
   
It's just...Killian doesn't get nervous. He's cocky and self assured and oozes confidence. He never doubts or second guesses himself. He acts without forethought or remorse.   
   
   
Except now. Now he's nervous. And he doesn't know how to deal with it.   
   
   
Graham said it's "exacerbating his eccentric personality to unendurable levels". To which Killian eloquently replied "shut the fuck up".   
   
   
When he and Smee had plotted to have David attend their show tonight, they'd never discussed what Killian was to do with himself if he actually said yes. Which he had. Surprisingly easier than Killian had anticipated, actually. He and Smee had deduced that it would take a hell of a lot of cajoling and flirting on Killian's behalf.   
   
   
Except it hadn't. And now Killian was faced with the dilemma of what to do with himself in the hours before he saw David again. He had decided to occupy himself with driving his band mates batshit, otherwise he might explode.   
   
   
Hence the murderous plots, he supposed.  He had taken to snapping at them for the littlest things. With Smee, it was of course about that dreadful hat.   
   
   
 _"Take that thing off before he sees you. He's going to think we're homeless!"_  
   
 _"He's already seen me, you dumbass. Nobody gives a fuck about this hat but you."_  
   
   
With August, it had been about his alcohol consumption.   
   
   
 _"Could you please not be completely trashed when he gets here? I'd rather he not get the impression that we're worthless lushes."_  
   
 _"Oh shut up Killian. You've probably got so much rum built up in your system that you're perpetually wasted. Your boyfriend doesn't seem to mind. Drinking might make you a little more tolerable right now, actually."_  
   
   
With Graham...well it was nothing actually. He’d considered teasing him about stealing David from under his nose, but he didn’t want Graham contemplating the idea of pursuing David, even in a joking manner. Killian already knew that David would take an immediate shine to the taciturn man, so he wouldn’t force the issue. Killian mostly annoyed Graham by attempting to recruit him into berating the others. But Graham just shook his head as he sat quietly on the couch, occasionally describing Killian's behavior with fifty-cent words.  
   
   
After speaking with David at the Hut, Killian had gone home and tried on every outfit in his closet. And then decided to wear what he been wearing earlier, so David wouldn’t think he’d put too much effort into it. He had then spent 30 minutes styling his hair, only to stick it under the faucet and towel it dry like usual. He was a wreck. And surprisingly, Killian found he was sort of enjoying it.  
   
   
The nervous tension he feels around David is so foreign to him, but it isn’t unpleasant. It makes his ears ring and his skin tingle. It makes him anxious and excited to see David again. And the closer that time draws, the more anxious and excited he becomes.  
   
   
Currently, Killian is pacing the filthy floor of the Apollo’s ready room, watched exasperatedly by his band mates. He’s tried sitting on the couch with Graham, tuned his guitar 4 times, snuck nips from August’s flask (he’s bloody nervous, alright?) but nothing has helped. And so he paces.  
   
   
“Would you stop already?” Smee cries when Killian makes approximately his 25 th pass of the evening. “It’s not a big deal, Killian. He’s seen you play before. Apparently he liked it. He obviously likes you. It’s fine.”  
   
   
 Killian shakes his head, progress unimpeded. He reaches the door and turns back to face the room. Throwing his hands in the air in response to his mates’ annoyed visages, he defends himself. “I’ve not done this before, alright? I don’t work at shit. But I want,” he hangs his head, embarrassed. “I just really want to impress him,” he mumbles quickly.  
   
   
“And I’m telling you, you already have,” Smee replies, his voice softer than before. He gives Killian a sympathetic look. “He likes  _you_ , right? Well this,” he waves a hand to indicate Killian’s worried pacing and strained face, “isn’t you. So knock it off.”  
   
   
Killian blows out a breath as he comes to a halt, linking his hands behind his head and stretching his back. His muscles feel sore from all the tension he’s been carrying.  
   
   
“What time’s he getting here, anyway?” Graham inquires idly, eyes on his phone as he plays some stupid word game. “Nine,” Killian responds, feeling the ever familiar tightening in his stomach at the thought.  
   
   
Graham glances up at him in mild surprise. “Yeah? Cuz it’s 5 after.”  
   
   
“What!” Killian cries, eyes going to the clock on the wall that he’s been diligently watching for the last half hour. “That says 8:50.”  
   
   
Graham shrugs. “Must be slow.”  
   
   
“Fuck. Shit. Fuck!” Killian breathes as he rushes for the door. Goddamn it. He rushes for the door, nearly pulling it from its hinges in his haste. His eyes scan the bar desperately, praying that David is late.   
   
   
When he bursts through the door, Killian sees David immediately, leaning over the bar to inquire something of the bartender.  _He has a damn fine ass,_  he thinks appreciatively. The girl behind the counter smiles at him before replying, then points over his shoulder towards Killian. David turns and spots Killian staring at him. He smiles shyly and Killian feels his heart come to rest somewhere in the vicinity of his Adam’s apple. He grins back, letting his excitement at seeing David spill over on his face. Killian beckons him over spiritedly.  
   
   
 David makes his way through the busier than usual bar quickly, soft smile never leaving his mouth. His perfect, amazing, distracting mouth. Killian finds himself watching it as David draws near, and almost misses what he says.  
   
   
“Sorry,” David grimaces. “I know I’m a little late. I couldn’t decide what-“ he cuts himself off, blushing slightly. “Uh, I didn’t realize what time it was.”  
   
   
Killian beams back, charmed as ever at the sight of David’s pink-cheeked awkwardness. “Neither did I,” he admits sheepishly. “That’s why I wasn’t out here when you arrived. But no matter. You’re here now.” Killian gestures to the door behind him. “Ready to see the fellas?”  
   
   
David nods. “Sure. They do know I’m here though, right?” he asks, seeming a tad hesitant.  
   
   
“Of course. And they’ve promised to be on their  _best_ behavior.” Killian winks at David before taking hold of his elbow lightly and guiding him into the ready room.  
   
   
David allows it until they’ve breached the door. Then he pulls away gently, and Killian pouts at him slightly but steps away. He shouldn’t expect too much, yet.  
   
   
“Oi, David’s here,” he announces to the room at large. The other three look up before making their way over for introductions.  
   
   
And Killian realizes he was ridiculous for worrying. David is irritatingly pleasant, engaging the guys easily, and all of them keep shooting Killian approving looks. Killian feels his heart swell, and he can’t keep the perpetual grin from his face.   
   
   
As predicted, Graham and David hit it off immediately, and spend quite some time discussing the latest novels they’re reading. Killian rolls his eyes when the conversation seems like it may become interminable and eventually he feels the need to interject loudly. Much as he’s glad they’re getting along, David is here for  _him_ , not Graham. “I think that’s quite enough of that,” he says, stepping forward to grab his arm and drag David toward the couch, where August offers David his rum.  
   
   
“No thanks,” David blusters as Killian pushes him down and then sits beside of him, possibly closer than is strictly necessary. If David minds, he doesn’t say anything. And Killian knows he doesn’t. “Do,uh, do you guys usually drink before going onstage?” David asks, watching skeptically as Killian reaches across him for the flask.    
   
   
“We do here,” August replies before Killian can finish his drink. “Wards off depression,” he adds with a grin.  
   
   
David glances at Killian questioningly. “What, you don’t like playing here?”  
   
   
Killian scrunches his face up slightly. “It’s not that we don’t like playing, it’s that we usually haven’t got anyone to play for. That can bring you down a bit.” He grins, so inordinately pleased to merely be sitting on a couch with David that even the thought of the lackluster crowds at the Apollo can’t ruin it. “But we’ve got you tonight. So it’s a celebratory drink.”  
   
   
August makes a vomiting motion at him behind David’s back, but Killian ignores him in favor of staring at David happily. David seems torn between being pleased with the attention and embarrassed by it.   
   
   
David inquires politely about their gigs, and they tell about their favorites. His mates share some embarrassing stories about Killian’s “groupies”, and Killian wants to kill them. But David is smiling and laughing, so Killian supposes it’s alright in the end.  
   
   
“Yo,” Smee eventually drawls in that stoner voice of his. “I hate to break up the love fest, but we better get our asses ready. It’s 10 til.”  
   
   
Killian can hardly believe that the time with David has gone so fast (fucking Graham, hogging him), when the time waiting for him had felt like swimming through molasses. But he stands anyway, holding out a hand to help David off the couch. And glaring furiously when August accepts it instead. David laughs, pushing himself upright.   
   
   
“You guys have a good set tonight?” he asks, genuinely interested.  
   
   
“Of course,” Killian says loftily. “Only the best for you, Dave.”  
   
   
David sighs wearily. “It’s David.”  
   
   
His mates laugh as Killian grins, incorrigible. The more it bothers David, the more it makes Killian want to call him that.  
   
   
The band gathers their gear, and Killian instructs David to sit close to the stage. “Wouldn’t want to miss the action,” he says with a lascivious wink.  
   
   
David blushes again, and Killian decides that’s how he wants to spend all of his time. Making David blush.   
   
   
“I will,” David promises as he heads for the door. “I won’t even drink. Unless,” he pauses, halfway out the door, “that’s the reason you guys play so many bars. People have to be drunk to listen to you.” He laughs warmly as Killian and his mates protest in mock outrage. With a wave and a “see you later,” David is out the door.  
   
   
Killian turns to his friends, smile threatening to take over his face, and they collectively roll their eyes.  
   
   
“Yeah yeah, he’s awesome,” August sighs, pushing Killian toward the stage door. “We get why you were so fucking weird earlier.”  
   
   
Smee and August head through the door and onto the stage, but Graham halts Killian with a hand on his chest. Killian looks at him expectantly.  
   
   
“Look Killian, I don’t usually tell you how to live your life. But this guy,” he pauses, eyes on Killian’s face. “I think he could be really good for you. And you’re…different around him. Good different. And he definitely doesn’t put up with your shit.” Killian scoffs, but Graham’s face is serious as he adds, “Don’t fuck this up.”  
   
   
Killian grins as he pulls Graham close, pressing an appreciative kiss to his temple. Graham laughs as he shoves him away.   
   
   
“No worries, mate. I don’t intend to.”


	17. Chapter 17

David faces a bit of a quandary when he makes his way back out into the main part of the bar. The table he had intended to sit at (one back from the nearest, slightly left of center) is now occupied by an elderly couple. And it’s not like he can ask them to choose a different table. David snorts, imagining how that conversation would go.  _Yes hi, would you mind moving so I can be close enough to ogle the lead singer, but far enough back that I won’t be tempted to jump his bones right on the stage?_  
   
   
David can sense Killian watching him from the edge of the stage, but he refuses to acknowledge him. For the moment. Otherwise he’ll be stuck standing in the middle of the bar, smiling like an idiot.   
   
   
He finally chooses a seat at a booth towards the end of the wall that runs along the stage.  _This is better than a table, anyway,_ David thinks, satisfied with his choice.  _Less chance of someone asking to sit with me._  
   
   
While he’d been getting settled, Jolly Roger had taken up their instruments, introduced themselves, and begun playing to a smattering of polite applause. David considers sticking his fingers in his mouth and whistling, but decides to save it for the end. He smiles, imagining Killian’s reaction.  
   
   
Speaking of Killian…  
   
   
He looks just as attractive holding his guitar as David remembers, and he’s struck by a sense of déjà vu as he finds himself unable to look away. At least he doesn’t have to pretend that he isn’t staring, this time. And Killian makes no qualms about it, either. They grin at each other stupidly for awhile as Killian sings some song David doesn’t recognize, but wishes that he did. He wonders if it’s an original and decides that if it is, Killian is even more talented than he’d first assumed.  
   
   
Unlike the previous time he saw them, David is able to wrest his attention away from Killian’s gorgeous face long enough to appreciate the rest of the band. They’re all insanely talented, and strangely, it makes David sad. They should be selling out venues, not slumming it in dives like the Apollo. He must be making a face at the thought, because Killian catches his eye again and frowns. On a whim, David sticks his tongue out at him in response.  _What the hell has gotten into me?_  
   
   
Killian seems to be struggling to contain a laugh, still singing, and David feels bad. But not too bad. Killian has caught David off guard more times than he can count, and turnabout is fair play. Still, David averts his gaze in an attempt to give Killian a chance to recover his composure. He looks around the bar, wanting to gauge the reaction of the room to Jolly Roger. He feels suddenly very protective of the band.   
   
   
He scowls when he realizes the female contingent, at the least, seems very pleased by what they’re seeing. More than half the girls in the room are staring at Killian dreamily. David wants to be angry about it, but how can he when he’s guilty of the same behavior? He can’t control the slight spike of jealousy he feels whenever Killian offers one of them an absent smile, however. David decides to pay attention to the music and not the audience. For his sanity’s sake.  
   
   
And the music is very good. It’s again a mixture of covers and originals and, again, it’s over far too soon. Before he knows it, David is offering his loud, two-finger whistle and laughing when Killian seems startled by the noise before smiling fondly at him. Jolly Roger thanks the crowd and head back through the small onstage door. David sits back in his booth, feeling deliciously lighthearted.   
   
   
In what seems like no time at all, Killian appears at his side. “Enjoy the show?” he asks with that shiteating grin of his.  
   
   
David smirks back. “Yeah, for sure. Your bass player is still hot.”  
   
   
Killian laughs, reaching down to pull David out of the booth by his collar. “Come on, you slut. I need a drink.” He leads David toward the bar, still not having let go of his shirt. He releases David when they reach their destination, sitting down at a stool and pulling out the one beside him for David.  
   
   
The young bartender comes over, raising her eyebrows at Killian in inquiry. He smiles at her and requests rum.  _Obviously. Bastard probably bathes in it._  
   
   
"Just a beer, thanks." David says when the bartender turns to him  
   
   
Killian groans dramatically. "David no. That's a pathetic excuse for alcohol." He pulls a face. "It’s so boring. And the flavor is terrible." Leaning closer to David conspiratorially, Killian whispers directly in his ear. "We can have a bit more fun than that."  
   
   
David shivers, and whether it's in response to Killian's nearness or his words David doesn't know. Perhaps both. But the bartender returns and Killian is forced to straighten, clearly reluctant.   
   
   
Killian gives the girl a forced smile and David thanks her politely as she sets their respective drinks in front of them. He reaches for his beer with an amused grin and takes a drink while Killian makes gagging noises beside him.   
   
   
"I happen to enjoy beer, thanks," he says airily. He glances at Killian out of the corner of his eye. "Maybe that means I'm boring and terrible-tasting as well. You don't know." The moment the words are out of his mouth, David wishes he could snatch them back. He watches with trepidation as a downright evil smirk crosses Killian's face.   
   
   
"You're right, I don't," Killian practically purrs. He leans in even closer than before, hot breath gusting against David's neck. "But I'd quite like to find out." David nearly jumps out of his skin as a warm tongue touches the skin beneath his ear, briefly. He clears his throat desperately, begging Killian to remember where they are. At a bar. With people. In public. Not that crowded of a bar and with people who don't give a shit what anyone else is up to, but still.   
   
   
Killian sits back, wicked grin still in place. He watches David as he slowly licks his lips and David closes his eyes. "Not terrible at all, David." Killian says, and though David can't see him, the leer is evident in his voice. "Astonishing, in fact."   
   
   
David opens his eyes to see Killian raising his glass of rum in a sort of salute and he has to hold back an incredulous laugh. He's never been saluted for how he tastes before.   
   
   
"Much like this rum," Killian continues. He takes a sip and then winks at David. "Delicious."  
   
   
David flushes but shakes his head. "Forgive me if I'm loathe to trust your drink recommendations." He raises an eyebrow (he's determined to master that expression) at Killian teasingly. "Remember last time?"  
   
   
Killian laughs, and it's like cool water, soothing David's nerves and tension. He grins in response as Killian shakes his head.   
   
   
"That drink was a caffeinated delight. You simply lack a palate refined enough to appreciate it," he says haughtily.   
   
   
"Apparently," David replies sarcastically. "Still, I'm gonna stick with the beer and leave the sophisticated tastes to you."  
   
   
Killian shrugs at him, the gesture clearly meant to convey it was David's loss. Despite his protesting, as he watches Killian finish his rum, David has a sudden desire to taste it. On Killian's tongue, that is. He gulps his own drink in an attempt to drown that wayward thought.   
   
   
Killian observes him with a grin, and David feels stupidly happy. Looking around the bar in an attempt to avoid Killian's amorous gaze (David's pretty sure Killian knew exactly what he was thinking a moment ago) David catches sight of a pretty girl in a  _very_  revealing top headed toward them, and he watches in surprise as she waltzes up behind Killian and claps her hands over his eyes.   
   
   
"Surprise!" she trills obnoxiously. "Guess who, Killy!"  
   
   
David narrows his eyes, both at the nickname and the familiar air in which she addresses Killian. He's reached up to pull her hands from his eyes, and she pouts at him ridiculously.   
   
   
"Aw still no fun, I see. Maybe I can fix that. Looks like you need a drink." She grins as she heads behind the bar, trailing a hand across Killian's shoulders purposefully as she goes. She looks at David as she starts to speak again. "Did you know he's no fun without a drink in front of him? I found that out the hard way." She giggles, then leers at Killian playfully. "But we got that straightened out, didn't we? And then you were lots of fun."  
   
   
David sits in stunned silence, momentary happiness gone. Killian has gone tense as a drawn bow, and he grits out, "Tamara. I didn't think you were working tonight."  
   
   
 _Is that why he asked me here, then?_ David thinks wildly.  _Thought he could sneak it past his…whatever?_  
   
   
Oblivious to David’s thoughts and Killian’s palatable distress, Tamara busily fixes Killian another glass of rum, leaning across the bar when she brings it to him and running a manicured finger down his cheek. "I wasn't. But I switched with Jill because I knew you'd be in tonight. We've only managed to have that one night of fun, remember? I thought you were up for more when you were in here last week, but then I couldn't find you when I got off work." She pouts again, full red lips inches from Killian's face.   
   
   
Killian, for his part, is glaring at her thunderously. He seems superbly irritated with her presence, and keeps glancing at David as if to gauge his reaction to the scene playing out in front of him.   
   
   
 _Old fling stepping on your game, Killian_?  
   
   
David feels his face grow hot at the thought, and he looks down at his lap to hide his mortification. He's an idiot. How he'd managed to convince himself that Killian was in this for him and not just a conquest is beyond him. Everything about Killian, from his devilish good looks to his flirty charm to his flippant nature, screams "playboy". And “one-night stands”. And “heartbreak”. And David, in his desperate infatuation, had simply plugged his ears.  
   
   
Unable to sit at the bar and listen to Tamara coo at Killian any longer, David stands abruptly. Though he knows he might be overreacting (Tamara had said they’d only been together one night, and Killian certainly doesn’t owe David any sort of loyalty), David can’t help but feel like (possibly, maybe, horrifyingly) he had been nothing but the pursuit of another notch in the bedpost for Killian. And he’d almost allowed himself to be. He’d let himself be taken in by Killian’s stupid smile, and his stupid eyes, and his stupid mouth. And David is stupid.  
   
   
Killian is watching him desperately as David shakes himself from his self-pitying thoughts. “David?” he says quietly, and David’s heart clenches. He attempts a reassuring smile but knows it must come across as a pained grimace (which it is). “You, uh, you two obviously have some catching up to do, so I’m gonna take off,” he manages, unable to meet Killian’s eye.   
   
   
Killian stands as well, catching David’s arm roughly. “No, don’t do that. Don’t do this. Look, it isn’t-“  
   
   
But David is shaking his head. He knows. He knows what Killian is going to say before he says it. And David doesn’t want to hear it. Because he might just believe it. Because he’s stupid.   
   
   
“No it’s totally fine,” he lies, speaking over Killian. “I need to get home anyway. But you stay.” He meets Killian’s eyes finally, and has to bite his lip at the look he finds there. It’s confused and hurt and regretful. He looks away again. “Seriously, Killian. Stay.”  
   
   
David shakes himself free of Killian’s grip on his arm and heads for the door, praying Killian obeys. As he reaches the street outside, it seems like Killian has listened to him, and David breathes out slowly. He turns for home, walking at a blistering pace.  
   
   
All the way home, he tells himself this is better anyway. He isn’t cut out for relationships. He’s stubborn and unwilling to change for anyone.  
   
   
Except. It’s stupid, David knows it’s stupid. And yet.   
   
   
Killian hadn’t felt like anyone. He’d felt like the one.


	18. Chapter 18

Killian groans as he stumbles down the street, hand over his eyes to shield them from the blisteringly bright sun that persists in trying to burn them from their sockets.   
   
   
"Fucking hell," he mumbles peevishly. "If that idiot had just stuck around long enough to hear me out, I wouldn't be chasing his stubborn ass down at this ungodly hour."  
   
   
After David had practically fled the Apollo last night, Killian had taken it upon himself to get roaring, mind-numbingly drunk. He had wanted to follow David out and make him listen, but everything about David's body language had screamed that it would have been for naught. David wasn't willing to hear what Killian had to say.    
   
   
So he drank to keep himself in his seat. Tamara, amazingly, had seemed to sense his fantastically dark mood and had avoided him for the rest of the night.  _Too fucking late for that_. Around closing time, Killian's drunken brain had convinced him that he should force David to listen to reason, and he had staggered out into the street only to remember that he has no idea where David lives. So he'd gone home, miserably wasted, and fallen asleep on the couch while trying to decide if he wanted to bust into his own private store of booze.    
   
   
The sunlight streaming through the open curtain of his living room window had awoken him just a few hours later. With much effort, Killian had dragged himself through undressing, showering, and redressing before setting out to find that fucking blue eyed menace that drove him to this state in the first place.   
   
   
Killian knows he's drawing more than a few stares, both for his hungover attempt at navigating busy streets and his incessant muttering to himself about "idiot" and "bloody gorgeous twat". He just doesn't care. The only coherent thought he can spare is "Fuck 'em" and he can't be bothered to add anything else.   
   
   
Finally, blessedly, he reaches the Hut and hurriedly pushes his way inside, eager for the relief for his tormented head. But instead of the solace he craves, he's greeted by Ruby's obnoxiously loud call of "Good morning Killian!"  
   
   
"Oh fuck me, what fresh hell is this?" he groans, before addressing Ruby. "Mind the head, would you, love?"  
   
   
She grins at him as he glares at her, and then she practically shouts at him again, causing him to wince and clutch at his forehead.   
   
   
"Aw what's wrong? Do you have a headache? Being an utter ass will do that to some people."  
   
   
Annoyed, Killian lowers his hand from his head to glare at her some more. "Have you got a tone of voice other than 'excruciating'?" he spits at her.   
   
   
Ruby merely smiles wider in return, and Killian reluctantly approaches the counter.  "And why am I an ass?" he grumbles peevishly.   
   
   
Ruby ignores his question, reaching over to pat his arm mock-soothingly. "Can I get you something to drink? Or are you here to fuck with David again?"  
   
   
Killian looks at her in surprise, unsure how she could possibly know anything of what transpired last night. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," he replies dismissively, dropping his gaze to avoid her eyes.   
   
   
Ruby laughs, though it's not her usual airy giggle. It sounds almost mean.  And exceedingly loud. Killian rubs at his temples tiredly.   
   
   
"Cut the crap, Killian. William told me about David coming to see you guys last night. And he told me that he and the other guys had gone to get food after the show, and saw David walking down the street alone when he was supposed to be with you. And-" she pauses, eyes looking suspiciously wet ( _what the fuck?_ ) "And then David didn't come in this morning. So stop with the innocent act and tell me what you did to him."  
   
   
Killian inhales deeply, cursing Smee with the breath.  _Fucking rat._  Ruby is glaring at him, hands on her hips, and he scrubs a hand over his face in exasperation. "Just because he missed his morning coffee, why should that mean I've done anything?" he asks, deciding to match her anger with anger.   
   
   
"Because David doesn't just 'miss' his morning coffee. Because David has a schedule and he sticks to it religiously. So if he isn't following it, I know something is wrong." Ruby huffs back at him.   
   
   
Killian gives her an exasperated look. "Don't you feel you may be exaggerating just a tad, love? No one keeps to their schedule  _every_  day."  
   
   
Ruby's eyes narrow at him, and she begins to rattle off what sounds like an itinerary. "David arrives every morning at 7:15 sharp. He grabs his coffee," ( _large, regular, no cream, two sugars_ , Killian's brain supplies unhelpfully.  _Except the day he let me fix his drink_.)   
   
   
Meanwhile Ruby is still reciting David's routine. "And then he sits at the table in the back corner, after he hangs his coat on the chair opposite from him. He says it's because it irritates him on the back of his, but I think it's to discourage anyone from sitting with him. Even though he's usually the only one in here." She glares at Killian like he's somehow responsible before shaking her head like David's preference for being alone is the saddest thing imaginable.   
   
   
Which Killian supposes it might be, but before he can consider it further, Ruby is off again.   
   
   
"Then he reads whichever book he's on this week, gets two refills on his coffee, and tips me way too much. At 7:45, he stands up, drains his coffee, grabs his coat, brings his cup to the counter, kisses my cheek, and leaves. He heads to work, arrives by 8, stays until 6 or later, goes home and eats dinner alone, watches ESPN, and goes to bed." She makes a nasty face at Killian. "So yes, someone does keep to their schedule every day. David Nolan. Except apparently you," she jabs a finger into Killian's shoulder, painfully, "pulled him out of it last night. And now he's not here. So tell me what happened."  
   
   
Killian rubs at his shoulder in irritation. He runs over what Ruby said, feeling guiltier than ever now he knows what an apparently big deal it was for David to come out last night.   
   
   
Ruby is still watching him in high dudgeon and he sighs wearily. "Look, it's not what you're thinking."  
   
   
"I'll be the judge of that, thanks."  
   
   
Killian sighs again, and decides to just jump in. "There's this girl-" Ruby scoffs loudly, interrupting him. "Of course there is," she says venomously and it's Killian's turn to glare. "Would you allow me to finish before you decide to string me up, please?" She waves a hand imperiously, and he continues.   
   
   
"There's this girl, a bartender, at the Apollo. Apparently she tagged along to a party the mates and I went to a few weeks ago, before I met David might I add," Killian rubs a hand against his eyes, headache causing his vision to blur slightly. "I don't really remember anything about it except she was all over me. While I didn't exactly  _discourage_  her, I wasn't exactly into it either. Nothing happened between us, but she seems determined to rectify that." Killian blows out an explosive breath while Ruby watches him, eyes still narrowed but apparently saving all comments until he's finished.   
   
   
"She was working the bar last night," he continues with a grimace. "David and I were sitting, having a lovely chat, when she made her way over to us. She," Killian pauses, searching for the word. "She took some...liberties with me that she apparently feels she has the right to. I stopped her, of course, but by that point I think it was too late." He shakes his head dejectedly. "I think it embarrassed David more than anything. He thought...well I'm assuming he thought that I was playing him, like I'm sure it seemed I had with Tamara."   
   
   
Killian looks at Ruby seriously for a few moments before continuing. "But I'm not. I have no interest in Tamara or anyone else. Just David. He-" Killian swallows, dropping his eyes again. "He's something else, you know? I tried to tell him that last night but he was having none of it. So I came here, hoping he'd give me the chance to explain because I," he looks up, eyes pleading with Ruby to believe him, "I don't want to lose him before I've ever had him."  
   
   
Ruby is silent as he finishes, and her gaze is less hostile than it was before. She reaches out to lay her hand on Killian's arm, more sincerely than she had before. He closes his eyes briefly in relief. She seems to believe him.   
   
   
"Oh Killian," she says sympathetically. He snorts at the tone and she smiles wanly. "I knew there was something about you and David the moment I saw you two talking last Saturday." She shakes her head in amusement. "Aside from the fact that he doesn't usually talk to anyone besides me or Mary Margaret, he seemed...engaged. Normally I get the impression that he's on cruise control all the time, but once he met you he seemed to have a little more purpose."   
   
   
Ruby's eyes appear wet again, and Killian covers the hand she has on his arm with his own. She shakes her head before continuing.   
   
   
"I love David more than just about anyone. He's such a good person, Killian. He's so generous and caring and, even though I know it doesn't seem like it most of the time, he's so funny." Killian smiles at her then. "Oh I've been privy to a few of his one-liners," he says in amusement. Ruby laughs delightedly.   
   
   
"See! That's exactly what I mean. He's different with you. I'm amazed at how quickly he opened up to you, actually." Her face grows somber again, and she looks at Killian sadly. "He probably is too, which is why he was so quick to assume the worst last night. I'm sure he felt dumb for ignoring his status quo for someone who he thought didn't really care about him. David is a self-saboteur. He keeps himself away from things he might otherwise enjoy for fear of getting hurt."  
   
   
"And he went out with me anyway.  And got hurt," Killian says miserably. He’s an idiot.  
   
   
Ruby gives him a pitying look. "But he isn't going to stay hurt," she insists, reaching over to the back counter and grabbing the marker she uses to write names on coffee cups. Wrenching up the sleeve of Killian's jacket, she begins writing on his arm in quick, firm lines.   
   
   
Killian raises an eyebrow, but allows her to continue uninhibited. "May I ask what it is you're doing, love?" he questions, when it seems no explanation is forthcoming.   
   
   
Ruby finishes her scribbling with a flourish and Killian angles his arm to see what she wrote. It appears to be an address. Or two, actually.   
   
   
"Helping you fix things with David, of course!" she says, like it should be obvious. "The first address is where he works, which is where I assume he is now, and the second is his apartment, in case he's not at the shelter."  
   
   
Killian grins, ecstatic as ever with Ruby sharing her wealth of David knowledge with him. He rolls the sleeve of his jacket down carefully, so not to smudge the precious writing, and then stands.   
   
   
"It seems to me that our dear David is in dire need of someone to rescue him from his predictable, cruise controlling ways," he says, laying a hand on Ruby shoulder solemnly before striding towards the door and pulling it open.   
   
   
Behind him, Ruby giggles in that airy way of hers. "You know, I think you might be just the person to help him, Killian."  
   
   
Sticking his head back through the door, Killian winks at her conspiratorially. "Oh I know I am, love."  
   
   
With that, he takes his leave, Ruby's bright laughter following him down the street.   
   
   
Time to go knock some sense into his beautiful idiot. 


	19. Chapter 19

As soon as he’d gotten home the night before, David had headed for his shower. He’d needed to scrub the bar (and its memories) off his skin.  
   
   
Halfway home after his mad dash from the Apollo, David had realized he might have acted a bit rashly. It wasn’t as though Killian were his; he hadn’t even known David the night he’d apparently been with that bartender.  _But,_  David had rationalized,  _that’s not the problem. The problem is, he’s obviously just interested in flings._  
   
   
And David isn’t. In fact, David isn’t interested in anything. He has decided to blame the whole thing with Killian on temporary insanity. Or lack of sleep (he certainly didn’t get any last night). Or something. It had been too long since he’d been with someone. Seeing Ruby and Smee so happy had made him sentimental. Pick your excuse, any or all of them work for David.   
   
   
He’s steadfastly resolved to get on with his life as usual, completely blocking out thoughts of the seductive musician with the devastating smile. And the gorgeous eyes. And the- _damn it._ Perhaps not completely.  
   
   
But David presses on, refusing to wallow. He heads to the shelter around 8, just a bit earlier than a normal Sunday morning, determined to make up for all the work he slacked on in the previous week. He briefly considers stopping by the Hut first, but isn’t up for chatter. So he fixes coffee at home before he sets out.  
   
   
When he gets to the shelter, he’s surprised to find the door unlocked. David frowns. Dr. Whale, the shelter’s veterinarian, shouldn’t have been in yet today, as David always opens on Sunday. He pushes the door open hesitantly, hoping that if it is Whale, he won’t stick around long. David is in no mood to socialize. He supposes it could also be Henry, the boy who comes by periodically to take the dogs on walks. While he loves Henry, David desperately hopes it isn’t him either. The boy can talk.  
   
   
To his utter surprise (and dismay), it’s neither of them. Seated at the reception counter, leather booted feet propped on the desk in front of him, cheeky smile on his face, is Killian. His smile grows impossibly wider as he takes in David’s flabbergasted expression.  
   
   
“Good morning, love! Missed you for coffee.” Killian leans back in the chair, arms going behind his head, the picture of nonchalance.   
   
   
David brings a hand to his mouth, running it down slowly. Is he really even surprised at this point? “Killian what,” he sighs resignedly, dropping his hand back to his side. “What are you  _doing here_?”  
   
   
Cue the pout. Beneath it though, David can see the thread of apprehension that runs through the expression. Killian’s nervous. The realization lends David a bit of confidence as he approaches the desk slowly. He skirts around it to stand directly in front of Killian. The other man swings his feet to the floor with a thump.   
   
   
Killian is shaking his head, eyes downcast. “Still the only thing you can say, huh?” he asks, one side of his mouth turned up in a dry smirk.  
   
   
“Well I think it’s warranted this time, don’t you? How on earth did you get in here?” David studies Killian’s face as he questions him, frowning at the dark circles under his eyes and the tight lines in his forehead and around his mouth. He doesn’t look like his usual immaculate self, though he’s still the most attractive person David has ever laid eyes on.  
   
   
Killian meets his gaze with a sly smile. “Well, you couldn’t expect me to wait for you outside, could you? It’s bloody cold.”  
   
   
“That doesn’t really answer my question,” David replies, shrugging out of his coat. It was cold out, but that doesn’t give Killian the right to break his way into David’s shelter. He doesn’t care how long he had to- “Wait,” David interrupts his own thoughts, glaring at Killian suspiciously. “You haven’t been in here all night, have you?”  
   
   
“Of course not, don’t be silly.” Killian rolls his eyes as he stands, reaching for David’s coat and taking it from his unresisting hands; he surprises David by pulling it on.   
   
   
“What?” Killian says defensively, in response to David’s perplexed look. “I told you I was cold. This jacket,” he plucks at the front of his leather one, “may look good, but it does shit as far as staying warm goes.”  
   
   
 _It does look good, though. And even better with mine on top._ David shakes his head at the thought, trying to stay focused on the situation at hand. Finding out what Killian is doing here.  
   
   
“Killian, how did you get in here?” he asks in exasperation, watching as Killian goes through the pockets of his jacket. When he finds nothing of interest, Killian turns his attention to David.   
   
   
“Oh that,” he says, waving his hand as though he can’t be bothered by the thought. And doesn’t continue. David blows out a frustrated breath, accepting the fact that he’ll never get a straight answer out of the vexatious man.  
   
   
“Okay fine. WHY did you get in here?”  
   
   
Killian looks at him in confusion. “To see you, obviously,” he says slowly, as though he thinks David might be mentally deficient.  
   
   
Which he has to be, judging by the way his stomach twists at the words, despite his resolution to get over Killian.   
   
   
“Oh,” David answers lamely. He recovers enough to press the issue a bit more. “What do you want to see me for?”  
   
   
The look is back. Killian seems truly concerned for David’s mental health. “Because I always want to see you.”   
   
   
David’s heart threatens to leap from his chest, but he stubbornly tamps it back down.  
   
   
Killian sighs then, and the weariness David noticed earlier comes through again. “And we need to talk about last night.”   
   
   
At the mention of the previous night, David’s jaw and fists clench involuntarily. He forces himself to relax before he responds.   
   
   
“Yeah sorry about that,” he says flippantly. “Just caught me by surprise, I guess. But no harm done.” He smiles at Killian, though it’s forced. “Tamara seems nice. I’m sure you guys will have a lot of fun.” David tries to pretend the thought of the fun she and Killian could have doesn’t make him ill.  
   
   
Killian, who had been listening with both eyebrows raised (for once), scowls darkly when David is finished.  
   
   
“Don’t be thick, David,” he hisses. “You know full well I have no interest in her or anyone else. Or you  _would_  know, if you hadn’t run out like the place was on fire last night.”  
   
   
David starts to say it makes no difference to him who Killian is interested in (or not), but Killian cuts him off.  
   
   
“Look, I’m just going to come out and say this, since you appear determined to stay alone and miserable. Maybe this’ll change your mind.” Killian takes a deep breath, as though steeling himself.   
   
   
“I like you, David. I like you more than I thought it was possible to like someone after such a short time knowing them. I like your face,” he runs his eyes over it appreciatively, “I like your voice, especially when you’re saying my name, and I like how shy you are sometimes. I like making you blush, I like your humor, and I adore your temper. I like how dedicated you are to this place, and I even like how crazily regimented your schedule is.”   
   
   
Killian smiles at David softly. “My life is a hectic one. It swirls around like paper in a wind tunnel and I do my best to keep up. But then I saw you, and it’s like it all came shuddering to a halt. You make me feel settled; grounded, which is something I haven’t felt in a long time. And I like it. And I like you. No one but you.”   
   
   
David feels like he’s been running as he struggles to catch his breath. But before he can, Killian continues, and he steals it away again.  
   
   
He’s looking at David seriously, the ever-present teasing light absent from his eyes. “I’ve never liked anyone the way I like you. Because with you, it’s not about what you could do to or for me. I mean,” he amends, “it is, but for once, it’s more than that too. I just like being with you. I like YOU, period. As a person. As a friend. Hopefully as a lover, but we’ll get to that.” He grins at David then, and David can’t do anything but stare back. He feels paralyzed. Killian, meanwhile, has begun talking again.  
   
   
“And I know you were taken aback last night, and probably a little hurt, and a lot confused, but you have to know that there is nothing going on with that girl. And nothing has ever gone on with that girl. And it never will.” Killian shakes his head disgustedly as he steps closer to David. “No matter how hard she tries. Because I’ve got my sights on another, and I’ll be damned if I do anything to jeopardize it. And I know I give off the impression that I’m,” he pauses, appearing to struggle with the word, “well to put it bluntly, a slut, but I promise you, I’m only interested in you David. And I know this isn’t something you do often, but I want you to try for me. Because I’m so into you, David. Your laugh and your pale blue eyes and your grouchiness and your sharp wit and your boring coffee. I like you, and I want you. And I desperately hope you want me too.”   
   
   
Killian ends his speech, his amazing eyes gazing at David with abject honesty.   
   
   
And, inexplicably, David believes him. And David wants him.  
   
   
“Killian,” he breathes, still struggling to absorb everything that the other man had said. It makes his heart feel full to bursting, and he struggles to reciprocate; to give Killian a hint of what he’s feeling.  
   
   
“Killian,” David says again, wondering how he can possibly articulate what he needs to. But Killian is looking at him in such hopeful anticipation that he decides to just go for it.  
   
   
“Last night, I left because I felt so stupid. I thought I was an idiot for not realizing you were playing a game, making a conquest.” Killian starts to protest and David holds up a hand imploringly. “Let me finish,” he pleads, and Killian falls silent, watching David closely.  
   
   
“And I felt stupid because I had let myself get so far gone on you, only to think you were going to drop me as soon as you got what you came for. So I left, and I’d convinced myself to get over you.” David smiles at Killian wanly. “And it worked. For all of two seconds. And then I saw you here, and I just realized something. For someone I thought was just fucking with me, you’ve put a lot of effort in. And then I realized something else when you smiled at me.” David shakes his head, ashamed at himself. “I realized that I’d seen enough of your fake smiles to recognize them immediately, and that you had never once given me one. And I suddenly knew that this isn’t a game to you. Because I’ve seen you play it, and this isn’t how it works.”  
   
   
Killian is staring at him, gaze unfathomable, breathing shallow, and David has to swallow thickly before he can continue.  
   
   
“And I realized that I saw my thoughts about you reflected back at me every time you smiled. I saw my infatuation. Because I am. Infatuated, that is,” he clarifies with a grin. “Like I never have been before. I think about you all the time, you know? Your voice and your smile and your damn eyebrow and your eyes. And whenever I’m not with you, I think about what it’d be like if I were. About your sassy remarks and your sexy winks and how you make me want to kiss you and then punch you within the space of a heartbeat.”  
   
   
As he speaks, David reaches tentatively for Killian’s hand, and is relieved when Killian immediately laces their fingers together with a disbelieving grin. He smiles back, continuing to talk.  
   
   
“I’m not as good with words as you are,” he laughs briefly, “and I definitely never say shit like this, but here it is: I like you. More than I should at this point, probably, but what can you do? I like your snark and your scruffy face and the way you sing. I like making you laugh. I like your cocky grin and your brief moments of vulnerability and your fucking pirate complex.”   
   
   
Killian scoffs and David grins at him. “Don’t even try to deny it. Calling your band Jolly Roger, honestly. But anyway, I like it. And I like you. And I-“ he hesitates slightly, unable to believe what he’s about to say. “And I want you,” David finishes quietly.   
   
   
And Killian’s smile is like sun. David wants to touch it, but is afraid he’ll burn. Killian seems to have no such reservation as he says “I’m going to kiss you now, David.”   
   
   
And all David can do is nod as he mumurs “Okay.” His heart beats like thunder, and he wonders why it doesn’t explode.  
   
   
And then Killian reaches up the short distance to David’s mouth, wrapping an arm around his waist, and David thinks it just might. David slides a hand into Killian’s (so soft) hair as he tilts his head to meet Killian’s kiss.  
   
   
And it’s so good. Chaste, just a soft pressure and a gentle movement, but David feels the kiss in his bones. Killian’s mouth is warm, his rough stubble rasping against David’s face deliciously. He smells incredible and David inhales sharply through his nose, just to get more of it. He wants to open his mouth, to test if Killian tastes as good as he smells. But Killian smiles against his lips before pulling away to press several quick kisses to David’s chin, nose, eyelid, jaw. He finally moves back slightly to grin at David.  
   
   
David exhales deeply, watching as it causes Killian’s hair to ruffle slightly. He runs his fingers through it lightly and Killian turns his head to kiss David’s wrist.   
   
   
“Well!” Killian exclaims with a laugh. “I’d say that was worth the wait.” He winks at David salaciously and David flushes. Killian’s eyes light up at the sight, and he leans in to press another quick kiss to David’s lips. David’s mouth follows unconsciously as he pulls away, and Killian groans.  
   
   
“You’re far too appealing for you own good, David.”  
   
   
Still shaken, David gapes at him incredulously. “Me?” he sputters.  
   
   
“Yes you. You make it extremely difficult for me not to ravish you in public every time I see you,” Killian says as he steps away from David a bit more.  
   
   
David is significantly distracted by that admission but manages to grit back “I appreciate the restraint.” He wants to take Killian back in his arms and make him follow through on that desire, but he knows now isn’t the time.  _Or the place,_ David thinks, ridiculously grateful that Whale has yet to arrive for the day.  
   
   
Killian is eyeing him appraisingly, and David raises an eyebrow at him in question. Killian smirks and David’s stomach clenches. Now that he’s done it, all David wants to do is kiss him.  
   
   
He says as much, just because he wants to see the delighted look on Killian’s face when he does.   
   
   
“I had begun to despair that I’d never get you to admit that, David,” Killian says as he steps close again.  
   
   
David reaches out to place a hand on his waist, rubbing his thumb against his side lightly. “And now?” he asks, eyes on Killian’s mouth.  
   
   
“Now,” Killian replies in a purring tone, “I’m winning you over. I can feel it.”  
   
   
And before David can inform him that he’s already won, Killian has pulled him down into another heart-stopping kiss. 


	20. Chapter 20

The next few weeks are some of the best of Killian’s life. He and David begin spending a good majority of their time together, and sappy as it may be, Killian falls for him harder than ever.  
   
   
David is infinitely appealing to Killian, from his looks to his charm to his temper and his humor. Killian revels in each as they’re revealed to him more intimately as time passes. And he knows David feels the same, judging by the appreciative looks he gets every time David learns something new about him. Killian knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that David is the one person with whom he’ll never get bored.  
   
   
Not that every day is sunshine and daisies, of course. He and David have already had two spectacular rows. One over Killian’s treatment of Mary Margaret (“She is my FRIEND, Killian and you can’t talk to her like that!” “Yeah? Forgive me if I take exception to the word friend. Friends don’t want to fuck each other.”) and one over David’s work schedule (“They’re living animals Killian, not some computer I can turn off on Friday and leave alone all weekend.” “I’m a living animal as well, and you have no qualms about turning me ON on Friday and leaving me alone all weekend.”) David has a propensity for storming off in the middle of their fights, but that’s fine, because Killian has a knack for giving chase.  
   
   
They’ve yet to… _consummate_ their relationship, though they’ve done nearly everything else. Killian could happily spend hours kissing David and has attempted to, complete with a little judicious fondling, but David always breaks away before they cross that certain boundary.  
   
   
Not that Killian minds. That much. He wants David to be comfortable, and he’s willing to wait as long as it takes.  _I just didn’t think it’d take quite this long._ Not that a month is interminable, it’s just that Killian is used to “sealing the deal” much sooner. But for David, he’ll wait.  
   
   
As it turns out, Killian needn’t have worried.  
   
   
On the night of their one-month anniversary ( _stop referring to it as that,_ Killian keeps reminding himself vehemently.  _David certainly hasn’t. Don’t be a sap.),_ the two of them have plans to spend the evening together. Killian always looks forward to the time he spends with David, but tonight he is especially excited. He’s arranged a surprise for his…boyfriend? They’ve never defined it as such, but that’s what it is, Killian’s sure.  
   
   
When David arrives to fetch him, Killian greets him with a kiss. David brings a hand up to his hair to hold him in place, but Killian is eager to give David his present so he pulls away after only a moment.   
   
   
“I have something for you,” he says slyly, turning away to grab the envelope off the coffee table. He hands it to David, who raises an eyebrow in surprise.  
   
   
“What’s this for?” David asks, turning the envelope over in his hands. Killian shakes his head impatiently. “Just, because! Open it,” he insists. David gives him an unsure smile before complying.  
   
   
Killian watches expectantly as David pulls out two tickets to an exhibition on classic literature authors. It’s at the museum tonight, and includes features on Leo Tolstoy, Ernest Hemingway, Lewis Carroll, Charlotte Brontë, and others. David glances up at him quickly, a shocked look on his face.  
   
   
“Killian,” he says softly, eyes full of awe.   
   
   
Killian smiles at him indolently. “Sounds fun, yeah?” he manages to say with just the tiniest amount of sarcasm.  
   
   
David swallows thickly as he looks down at the tickets in his hand. "Killian this-this is too much, these tickets are expensive," he says, voice a mixture between grateful and guilty.   
   
   
Killian shrugs modestly, truly unconcerned. They  _were_  expensive but, "You're worth it," he replies gently.   
   
   
David's eyes come up to meet Killian's then, mouth parted slightly in surprised pleasure. They stare at each other for breathless moments until suddenly, David closes the distance between them. He wraps his arms around Killian's neck, tickets still in hand, and kisses him. Hard. Open mouthed and messy and so hot. Killian starts to span David's waist with his hands, pulling him in, but David steps back as swiftly as he'd moved in. Killian is left gasping in his absence.   
   
   
"Well, thank you," David says, with a shaky smile. And Killian laughs, the kind of laugh only David can pull from him. Deep and genuine and delighted.   
   
   
 _If that's how he says thank you, I'm going to go broke earning it,_  Killian thinks sardonically. But he knows that he'd go broke on David even if the only thing he got in thanks was a handshake or a smile. He just wants to see him happy.   
   
   
And he certainly looks happy now. David is back to staring at the tickets in his hand disbelievingly. He shakes his head with a laugh. "I can't believe you got these. I mentioned this thing weeks ago." He looks up at Killian in amusement. "I didn't even think you were paying attention."  
   
   
Killian steps forward to wrap an arm around David's waist, reaching up slightly to smile a kiss into his temple. "When are you going to learn I never stop paying attention to you?" he teases, just to watch the blush rise in David's cheeks. "Now come on," he adds, slapping David on the ass lightly. "We've gotta go if we're to make it to dinner before the exhibit."  
   
   
Killian starts to step away, but David surprises him by reaching down and linking their hands together.   
   
   
And he keeps doing it, all night. David isn't one for public displays, so Killian is thrilled when he picks up Killian's hand from where it's resting on the table at dinner. And how he takes it when they're walking from the car to the museum. And when they're traipsing around, perusing every display. He keeps ahold of it through most of the night, the walk back to the car, and on the way back to Killian's apartment. And all the hand holding is interspersed with teasing, fleeting little touches, always initiated by David and always returned by Killian. Hands resting on the arm, the back, the waist.   
   
   
It's driven Killian to distraction. He wouldn't be able to recall a single detail from the exhibition if his life depended on it. All he can remember is the way David kept smiling at him, the way he held his hand, squeezed his waist, kissed his neck, his cheek, his ear. All night, the only thing that kept Killian from dragging David off to some bathroom or broom closet was the knowledge that David was thoroughly enjoying the displays. And Killian's presence, it seemed.   
   
   
But Killian only has so much self-restraint. For wanting to tear into David from the moment he laid eyes on him over six weeks ago, Killian thinks he's been remarkably well behaved. However, there's only so much buildup he can take.   
   
   
Which is why he wants to smash his head against the brick building in frustration when David hesitates at the bottom of the stairs leading to Killian's apartment.  
   
   
David glances up towards the apartment, brow lowered in an unsure frown. Killian decides to take action, invading David's space and trailing a hand up his arm lightly. He leans in to David’s ear as he sighs “Please don’t tell me you’re walking me to my door and leaving it at that.”  
   
   
Killian watches the tiny hairs on David’s neck stand up as he breathes on him, and he can hear David swallow thickly.  
   
   
David is quiet for long moments, and finally Killian has had enough of his waffling. He rolls his eyes dramatically before fisting a hand in the front of David's jacket and turning toward the stairs. David sputters ineffectively as he's tugged along in Killian's wake.  
   
   
“Killian, what are you doing?” he asks as Killian marches them up the stairs determinedly.  
   
   
"Well, watching your painful struggle down there, it occurred to me your bloody  _decency_  may never allow you to make up your mind. So I made it up for you," Killian says conversationally, casually, as though bodily hauling dates to your door is an everyday occurrence. “You’ve been bolting like a skittish colt at the end of all our evenings, though I can tell you don’t want to.”  
   
   
David scoffs. "I was trying to be polite and not assume anything!" he replies hotly.   
   
   
Glancing back, Killian affords him another eye roll. "Oh yes, I’ve certainly been casting a vibe that said I wanted you to treat me like a lady and respect my honor." His grin returns and he stops suddenly, nearly causing David to stumble into him and send them both sprawling.  
   
   
Unfazed by David's clumsiness, Killian turns and presses his lips to David's ear as he utters, "In fact, from now on, I'd like you to consider me completely  _dishonorable_."  
   
   
David gapes at him, mouth open, and Killian can’t resist leaning in and sucking his bottom lip between his own. David inhales before nodding furiously against Killian.  
   
   
“Yeah okay. Let’s just-let’s go in.”  
   
   
Killian grins, triumphant, and turns to continue pulling David up the stairs.  
   
   
When they’re through the door, David is the one who halts suddenly, pulling Killian back against him as they slam the door shut with the force of their bodies.  
   
   
“Christ, David, I’ve been waiting for this so bloody long,” Killian groans as he presses his forehead to David’s, gazing at him intensely.  
   
   
“Yeah?” David says, almost seeming surprised. Killian groans again. “Obviously.”  
   
   
David’s laugh is breathless and almost desperate. “Why?”  
   
   
Killian stares at him incredulously, inches from those beautiful pale blue eyes. “Seriously?”  
   
   
David shrugs, and Killian feels overcome with the realization that David has no idea of the effect he has on Killian. And he’s determined to inform him.  
   
   
“I’ll tell you why, David,” he purrs, and David closes his eyes at the tone.  
   
   
“Let’s start with the physical, shall we? Your face. I could break it down inch by inch if necessary, but for the sake of time, let's just hit the high points." Killian pauses to rake his eyes over the topic of discussion. "We'll begin with your nose. It's that of a Greek god, straight and narrow and strong. And of course your cheeks." Killian runs a finger down one of them lovingly. "I adore the softness of them. Some men have cheekbones you could cut yourself on, but yours are perfect to brush my nose against after you've kissed me." Leaning forward, he does just that and David shudders gently. Killian doesn't pull away as he continues.   
   
   
"And then there’s your mouth. You know I wanted to kiss it from the moment I first saw it? And now it's a fairly constant desire," Killian turns his head slightly to catch David's mouth briefly. He keeps talking even as they stay connected, muffling his words. "It's a mouth made to be kissed, you know? Full lips but not to a ridiculous point. Perfectly shaped as well, easy to fit my own against." He does so again, for credibility's sake.   
   
   
They kiss passionately, as they do everything else, for far longer than Killian intends. David is sucking on his tongue and Killian struggles valiantly to hold on to his sanity. Finally, finally, he breaks away.  
   
   
David inhales shakily, and Killian has to close his eyes to maintain his composure. His grasp on it is tentative as it is. He presses on anyway.   
   
   
"Naturally, the reason your face is so exquisite as a whole is because it's framed by your immaculate jawline." Killian drags his teeth down it lightly, starting at David's left ear and continuing slowly to his chin. "And when you haven't shaved and there's just a hint of stubble, well...I'll gladly endure the burn it causes if it means I can put my mouth on it."  
   
   
At some point during his exploration, Killian's hands have come to be clenched in the front of David's dress shirt, undoubtedly wrinkling it beyond salvation. David doesn't appear to mind, and his own hands have wound up in Killian's hair as they inevitably do, not pulling so much as caressing.   
   
   
David is breathing heavily in his ear, face pressed in the crook of his neck, and Killian himself is nearly panting for breath. He tries to pull himself together enough to finish making his point.   
   
   
It takes him several tries before he gets his voice working again. "Now, where was I? Your neck is next, I believe. And we've reached one of my favorite stops on the tour."  
   
   
David laughs throatily, and Killian shivers as it reverberates down his spine. "The tour?" David questions lowly.   
   
   
Killian rolls his eyes, and though David can't see him, Killian knows he knows. "Obviously. Your body is a fucking national treasure. Now stop interrupting your tour guide."  
   
   
David shakes his head against Killian's neck but stays quiet.   
   
   
"Your neck," Killian starts again. "Besides the obvious being it's long and slender and infinitely biteable, is one of my favorite places because it can make you do this." Killian sucks lightly on David's pulse point, and David's entire body erupts in goosebumps. "Which I find horribly attractive."  
   
   
Moving his hands slightly, Killian begins to undo the top buttons on David's shirt, in order to reach his next demonstrative point. "Next is your collarbone and shoulders, which I suppose could be covered in conjuncture with your neck. Seeing as I want nothing more than to bite all three of them." He nips his way across the expanse of David's broad shoulders before pulling back to give him a speculative look. "Perhaps one day I'll leave my name in hickeys across them," he muses.   
   
   
David's eyes, whose pupils are blown out such as to be almost completely black, narrow slightly at that declaration. "You most certainly will not."  
   
   
Killian scoffs. "How do you know you won't like it unless we try it?"  
   
   
"Trust me, I know," David growls, leaning back into Killian's neck and trailing kisses up to his ear. Killian shudders pleasurably, but soon slaps David on the arm.   
   
   
"Stop that. The tour isn't even half over and we're way behind schedule."  
   
   
David groans, sliding his hands from Killian's hair and down his back, before dipping them just inside the waistband of his trousers.   
   
   
Killian gasps, and David tries to pull him in closer, but Killian resists by bracing his hands on David's (now bare) chest. His shirt hangs off his shoulders.   
   
   
"No you don't. I shan't allow you to distract me from my mission," he grits out.   
   
   
David bends forward to bang his head against Killian's collarbone in frustration. "And what mission is that again?"  
   
   
Killian unbuttons the rest of David's shirt and pushes it off before replying. "My mission! To make you realize how irresistible you are."  
   
   
"All I'm realizing is how irresistible  _you_  are," David says, and silences Killian's retort with a searing kiss.   
   
   
And David kisses like fire. His tongue is a flame that devours Killian like kindling. It is pointless to resist. One thing Killian prides himself on is recognizing when he is fighting a fruitless battle.   
   
   
So he shelves the tour for the moment, wraps his arms around David's neck, and burns.  
   
   
David moans softly as he presses his thumbs into the small of Killian's back, encouraging him to step closer and fit them together more intimately. Killian slots his legs between David's, their hips lining up perfectly.   
   
   
All the while, David's tongue is driving him to distraction.  _I must ask him where he learned that_ , Killian thinks desperately as David drags his tongue along the back of Killian's teeth and across the roof of his mouth. Unexpectedly, Killian feels a white hot knife of jealousy at the thought of anyone else experiencing this side of David.   
   
   
Tearing his mouth from David's with a low, possessive sound, Killian sets about ensuring there is no doubt in anyone's mind as to whom David belongs. Trailing his lips down David's neck to his pronounced collarbone, Killian sinks his teeth into it sharply.  _The first time of many if I'm to get my name on here._  
   
   
It seems that David has a different plan, however, as he yelps slightly and grabs Killian's hair to pull him away. Tilting Killian's head back to force him to meet his eyes, David raises his brows, unimpressed by Killian's show of aggression. "Ouch," he adds pointedly. "I was serious when I said we wouldn't be doing the whole 'marking me' thing."  
   
   
Killian pouts, but the brief interlude from their heated encounter has allowed him to collect his wits slightly. Moving back just a little, he runs his hands down David's bare torso teasingly. "Aw you're no fun, love."  
   
   
David glances down at himself in surprise, as though he's only just realized he's missing his shirt. He laughs and Killian leans in to kiss it from his mouth.   
   
   
Then Killian's eyes drift to the angry red mark standing out on David's collarbone, and he flashes hotter than ever.   
   
   
“What do you say we take this into the bedroom?” Killian questions salaciously, pressing his hips up into David, causing him to tilt his head back with a slight moan.  
   
   
Killian slips his index fingers into David’s belt loops, walking backwards across the living room with David in tow. David leans down to kiss him as they make stumbling progress, and Killian thinks they’ll be lucky to make it down the hall.  
   
   
“By the way,” David mumbles against Killian’s mouth, “I can do that whole describing thing too, if you want.”   
   
   
Killian laughs at his phrasing as they reach the bedroom, and he pulls back from David to wink at him suggestively. “How about you show me instead?” he practically growls, surprisingly himself with the deep timbre of his voice. He feels a thrill of anticipation as David’s eyes darken at the tone. He tilts his chin down and bites his lip, watching David from under his eyelashes.  
   
   
And what a sight he is. Flushed with arousal, his posture is strong and tight, bare muscles in his torso standing out in sharp relief. Killian steps back in to run his tongue over David’s defined chest, hands coming up to work off his belt and get his pants unbuckled. As Killian pushes them down roughly, David suddenly grasps his shoulders and sets him back a couple feet. Killian looks at him, askance, as David steps out of the trousers. He grins at Killian as he does so.  
   
   
“Why am I the only one losing clothes here?” he teases, and Killian is unbelievably more turned on by the sudden, overwhelming confidence he’s displaying. Killian holds his arms out in a gesture of supplication. “Feel free to get me up to speed,” he replies, a thrill running down his spine at the thought.  
   
   
David’s smirk is almost predatory, and Killian shudders slightly at the sight of it. David places both hands on Killian’s hips, gripping tightly for a moment before sliding his palms up Killian’s torso. He makes quick work of the buttons and strips the shirt off in one fluid motion. His eyes never leave Killian’s, and Killian finds himself panting for breath through an open mouth.   
   
   
David’s hands reverse their path down Killian’s chest and across his stomach slowly, David mumbling something that Killian vaguely recognizes as “So hot.” His own belt and trousers are soon shoved down and off, and then they’re just standing there, staring at each other in their boxers.  
   
   
And David looks so good. Killian longs to touch him, so he does. Reaching out, he palms the bulge in the front of David’s boxers teasingly. With a delicious groan, David braces his hands on Killian’s shoulders and drops his head forward.   
   
   
Killian steps further into the shelter of his arms and uses both hands to explore David’s cock more firmly. After a moment, he grows irritated with the barrier the cloth creates, and he pushes David’s boxers down as well. And David is so gorgeous. Killian gets caught up in looking, so he is taken by surprise when David uses the grip on Killian’s shoulders to shove him gently down on the bed.  
   
   
Killian lands on his back, gazing up at David in unbridled desire. David’s cheeks grow even more flushed, and Killian rakes his eyes over him hungrily. Stepping forward, David kneels at the edge of the bed as he tugs Killian’s own boxers down. Once the last stitch of clothing between them has been shed, David leans down and drags himself up along Killian’s body in sensual torment, kissing the skin he can reach lightly along the way.  
   
   
Killian is desperate for David’s kiss by the time he reaches his mouth, and he kisses David hard, nearly biting in his need. He runs his hands down David’s strong back as David pushes himself up slightly, hands braced in the mattress on either side of Killian. The muscles in his arms are brought to sharp attention by the movement, and Killian allows his hands to ghost down them next.  
   
   
David keeps himself raised just above Killian’s body, so that the intention is there without the satisfaction of his touch. Killian allows it for breathless moments, too caught up in the rasp of David’s stubble as they kiss lazily. Finally though, he’s had enough, and lifts his hips to meet David’s with a groan of frustration.  
   
   
David laughs, and the sound is like gasoline on the flame of Killian’s arousal. “David,” he gasps out, before David silences him with another kiss. He ends the torture, however, and lowers himself fully onto Killian.  
   
   
Still engaged in the bruising kiss, David grinds his hips into Killian’s with a low sound and a murmured “Shit, Killian”. Killian’s hands find the small of David’s back, pressing down hard, encouraging the tight fit of their bodies.   
   
   
David breaks the kiss and Killian pants for breath as David licks and sucks his way down Killian’s neck. He bites briefly at Killian’s collarbone (possibly in retaliation for Killian’s earlier maiming) before continuing on to Killian’s chest, flicking his tongue over one of Killian’s nipples as he moans David’s name again.  
   
   
All the while, their hips keep up a steady motion; David grinding down as Killian thrusts up, creating the most delicious sort of friction between them.  
   
   
David continues his trek downward, and Killian suddenly realizes his intention. But this is already too good, and he is too close, to be able to fully enjoy what he’s sure is the sheer bliss of David’s mouth on him. He knows if David goes down now, he’d come in a matter of moments, and what a shame that’d be.  
   
   
Shaking his head slightly, Killian winds his fingers in David’s hair and pulls him back up toward his mouth. David seems confused. “No?” he breathes out against Killian’s lips, eyes questioning.  
   
   
“Yes,” Killian replies ardently, “but just the thought of that is enough to make me lose it, and I’d rather like my first time with you doing that to last longer than three seconds.”  
   
   
David laughs again as Killian surges up to kiss him. Killian keeps one hand in David’s hair, holding him close, while the other reaches between their bodies to wrap tightly around them both. David groans into Killian’s mouth, long and low. Within a few strokes, Killian’s stomach is tightening dangerously.  
   
   
“David,” he forces out desperately. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck, Killian,” is David’s reply, and he kisses Killian fiercely, stealing the last of his oxygen. Killian feels like he might pass out as he comes, and he bites David’s lip with the force of it. He feels David go stiff, and presses his hips up into him harder. David shudders lightly, and Killian can feel it travel through his own body.  
   
   
After panting loudly for a moment, David falls away to Killian’s left side. They lie quietly for awhile, the only sound their steady breathing. Finally, David raises a hand to scrub it down his face roughly before he laughs lowly. Killian rolls to the side to look at him, grinning at his disheveled appearance. David smiles back, reaching out to cup Killian’s face gently.  
   
   
“You are-yeah.” He laughs again, eyes gazing into Killian’s happily. “You’re incredible.”  
   
   
Killian scoots closer to rest his head on David’s chest, and David wraps an arm around him tightly. “You’re not so bad yourself, Dave,” he mumbles, already drifting toward sleep. Sex has that effect on him. And fucking brilliant sex…well.  
   
   
He feels David shake his head. “It’s David,” he insists, but he sounds amused, and Killian grins as he shuts his eyes.    
   
   
When he next opens them, he’s frowning instead of smiling. Sunlight is streaming into the room, though Killian can tell it’s still early. Apparently not early enough for David to still be in bed with him, however.  
   
   
He scowls at the blank space beside him.  _That bastard. Who gave him permission to leave?_  
   
   
Then Killian notices a brightly colored post-it on the bedside table, and reaches for it in irritation. It better be a bloody good excuse.  
   
   
“ _Killian,_  
   
 _Went for coffee. Don’t move._  
   
 _-David”_  
   
   
Killian scowls again. Fucking coffee. If David was so concerned about him moving, he should have stuck around and ensured it didn’t happen.   
   
   
Grumbling to himself, Killian rolls out of bed and grabs his (or maybe they’re David’s) discarded boxers. He tugs them on as he heads for the door, scrubbing a hand through his hair roughly.  
   
   
He’s barely made it into the hallway before he hears a noise coming from the kitchen. Frowning slightly, he diverts his course from the bathroom and heads that way.  
   
   
The frown splits into a delighted grin when he finds the source of the noise. David is stood at the counter, looking the very picture Killian has had in his head for weeks. Barefoot in boxers and nothing more, David is sipping coffee and gazing at Killian ostentatiously. He gives Killian a squinty look as their eyes meet.  
   
   
“I thought I told you to stay in bed,” he drawls slowly.  
   
   
Killian pouts as he makes his way across the small kitchen, pinning David to the counter once he’s near. “I’ll have you know, I hate waking up alone. Especially after a night like last.” He runs a hand over David’s stomach lightly.  
   
   
David raises his eyebrows as he takes another drink of his coffee. “I’ll remember that,” he says once he’s swallowed.  
   
   
Killian takes the mug from his hand and sets it on the counter behind him before wrapping his arms around David’s waist. “I thought your note meant you had gone to the Hut,” he adds, conversationally.  
   
   
David is running his hands up Killian’s arms as he replies “I intended to.”  
   
   
Killian looks up at him imploringly. “So why didn’t you?”  
   
   
David smiles as he curls a hand around the back of Killian’s neck. “You know it seems that, at last, I’ve found somewhere I’d rather get my coffee.”  
   
   
Killian’s smile is brilliant as David leans in to kiss him.


	21. Chapter 21

_Six months later…_

  
   
David wouldn’t say he was a creature of habit.  
   
   
Well, maybe just a little.  
   
   
He still enjoyed routine, still got coffee at the Hut every morning, still walked to work. Only now, he didn’t sit at his table alone, didn’t spend every spare moment at the shelter, didn’t come home to an empty apartment.  
   
   
Killian had moved in a couple months ago, and David had marveled at how easily he fit into David’s life. The adjustments he had always been terrified to make seemed as natural as breathing now.   
   
   
It may have had something to do with the payoff those adjustments brought; namely, a sexy dark-headed musician in his bed every morning. And every night.   
   
   
Outwardly, not too much had changed since David began seeing Killian. But just about everything had. David found himself more inclined to letting his life be shaken up, because it usually involved one of Killian’s breathtaking grins and whispered promises of very explicit things to come if David goes along with whatever scheme Killian had cooked up. And though he’d never admit it, David loved the change Killian brought about in his life. It’s like the world was new.  
   
   
Even their fights have become precious to David, because no one fights with him like Killian. David is used to exploding in rage and walking away, leaving his adversary stunned in his wake. But Killian refuses to let him walk away. So they fight it out til the bitter end, and the issue always feels resolved instead of being left to fester. Though it could be that Killian just wants to stick around for the brilliant makeup sex that always follows one of their arguments.  
   
   
Actually (and amazingly, at least for David), Killian seems to want to stick around for everything. All the things that David thought people found off-putting about him Killian seems to delight in. Temper and stubbornness and exhibitions on authors and long hours and mudanity. He weathers it all with a bright smile and a sarcastic comment, and David feels whole.   
   
   
He himself has yet to discover an aspect of Killian’s personality that he doesn’t find delightful, so maybe it isn’t so farfetched that Killian feels the same about him. David loves his snark, his bluntness, his occasional bouts of uncertainty, his gruff affection. All of it. Though he wouldn’t mind if Killian acquired a bit more subtlety.   
   
   
It had taken David a little over a month to become comfortable with the idea of letting people know about their relationship. Not that everyone didn’t already know, but David was slow to admit it.  
   
   
After they had slept together, David realized it was stupid to keep this from the people close to him. Killian was going to be a part of his life in a big way, and it was time for his friends to know that.   
   
   
His only hesitation was the fact that one of his two friends had wanted to be the one in the relationship with him. And so David had put off telling Ruby and Mary Margaret.  
   
   
Killian had no such reservations. The morning after David told him he thought they should let people know they were together, Killian had joined David for coffee at the Hut. And when leaning down to grab David’s cup so it could be refilled, had kissed him. David’s brain had gone slightly foggy, as it always did when Killian kissed him, so he had returned it before remembering where they were.  
   
   
When he pulled away guiltily, it was to find both girls watching them from behind the counter. Ruby was grinning smugly, but Mary Margaret…David wouldn’t soon forget the look of confused hurt she wore.  
   
   
They had had a very long, awkward conversation the next day, wherein he insisted that he’d never meant for it to happen and she assured him that she was happy for him. Disappointed too, but mostly happy. And David had pretended to believe her.  
   
   
Months later, things weren’t quite back to normal, but they were getting better. Mary Margaret had begun looking him in the eye again, even smiling tentatively. And David was relieved.   
   
   
Ruby, on the other hand, had been thrilled from the start. She kept trying to come up with an amalgamation of their names (“Dillian? Kavid? I’ll get it eventually."), constantly invited them to double date with her and Smee, and sighed happily whenever they came into the shop holding hands. She repeatedly reminded them that she had known “something was up from the start”, and would never let Killian live down the fact that he’d used her (on multiple occasions) to get to David. Apparently helping get them together gave her some sort of ownership over their relationship.   
   
   
And she was forever trying to get a picture of the two of them together. She wanted it for her “match-making” wall behind the counter, which was also the wall she kept pictures of her friends on. Though David noticed the one she had taken of him one Christmas (he had been sitting in a chair in front of the fire, laughing at something Ruby had said, and she’d snapped the picture) had gone mysteriously missing. He’d asked her about it, but she seemed reluctant to give him a straight answer, eyes shifting to Killian, who smiled innocently. David later discovered the picture in Killian’s guitar case.   
   
   
One night out with Ruby and Smee had provided her with the photo she wanted of the two of them. They had been at a bar, seeing the band of one of Killian’s friends. David and Killian were both slightly drunk, which was the only reason they’d indulged her. Killian was sitting at the bar, and David had wrapped an arm around him and leaned against his shoulder, pressing their heads together. Ruby had taken the picture on her phone, and though the quality was low, David had loved it. Killian’s cheeks were flushed slightly from the alcohol, and that sexy smirk of his graced his mouth. So he had (discreetly) asked Ruby for a copy, and the picture now sits on his desk at the shelter.     
   
   
Every time he looked at the picture, David laughed incredulously. He had never imagined he would have a picture of him with his boyfriend on his desk. He’d never imagined he’d have a boyfriend, honestly. Or girlfriend, for that matter. Anyone.  
   
   
But now he can’t imagine life without Killian. He’s become David’s best friend as well as lover, and David knows, despite the fact that it’s only been six months, that Killian is it for him. Truth be told, he’d known it the moment Killian kissed him. But he’s even more certain now.   
   
   
Killian makes him laugh, makes him crazy, makes his heart pound. He listens to him, fights with him, commiserates with him. He makes David better in every aspect, and David never wants to give him up.   
   
   
And David loves him.  
   
   
He’s yet to tell Killian this, but he will.   
   
   
 _I definitely will_ , he thinks with a grin one Saturday morning, watching Killian stumble his way into the Hut.   
   
   
David is sitting at his favorite table, attempting to read, but mostly being distracted by thoughts of his amazing, fucking asshole of a boyfriend. Somehow “fucking asshole” had grown to be his term of endearment for Killian. He supposes it’s only fitting.  
   
   
David surveys Killian in amusement as he heads for the counter. “Coffee,” he mutters at Ruby, who complies with the blunt request with a knowing smile.  
   
   
It’s very early on a Saturday by Killian’s standards. David has taken to heading to the Hut without him because, incredibly, the weekly Saturday’s at the Hut shows are still ongoing, and David likes to get in at least a solid hour of reading before the shop is descended upon by social townspeople.   
   
   
Killian usually wanders down a bit before showtime, and they watch together (under threat of painful death from Ruby).  
   
   
Turning from the counter while Ruby fixes his coffee, Killian seeks out David’s eyes. He finds them, as expected, trained on himself intensely. David is no longer shy about staring at Killian, and does so blatantly, one eyebrow cocked suggestively. Killian flushes slightly in response, and David feels the thrill that always accompanies throwing Killian off-balance.    
   
   
Caught up in looking at each other, Ruby rolls her eyes as she has to tap Killian’s shoulder to get his attention, and he turns toward her as David goes back to his book with a smirk.  
   
   
He valiantly pretends to read until he can feel Killian standing just behind him, but refuses to look up or acknowledge him in any way. Unfazed, Killian reaches around to pluck the book from David’s hands.  
   
   
David’s always too happy to see him to even feign annoyance, so he tips his head back to smile up at Killian.   
   
   
“Hi,” he says simply.  
   
   
Killian grunts in reply, still appearing half asleep.  _So fucking adorable_. Killian leans over to kiss David, upside down, and David lifts a hand to bury it in his hair, holding him close.  
   
   
“Get a room,” Ruby sing-songs before ducking through the curtain towards the office.   
   
   
“With all the coffee I’ve bought over the years, I’ve probably paid for this room twice over!” David calls after her, mouth still on Killian’s.  
   
   
Killian snorts a laugh, pecking David once more on the lips before coming around to sit across from him. He kicks his feet up in David’s lap under the table, yawning hugely in the process.  
   
   
“Remind me again why you insist on being here. So. Bloody. Early.” he asks, watching David as he takes a sip of coffee.  
   
   
David shrugs. “To get away from you,” he teases and Killian kicks him lightly. David laughs. “You know why. I’ve gotta beat the hipsters if I want to read.”  
   
   
Killian shakes his head slowly, like he doesn’t know how to deal with David’s idiosyncrasies. “You’d think you’d want to be around them, seeing as you are one.”  
   
   
David gapes at him, offended beyond reason. “I am NOT,” he replies hotly.  
   
   
Killian raises an eyebrow at him skeptically. “You spend all your free time reading in coffee shops, dressed in plaid and usually with a healthy amount of stubble. If that’s not a hipster, I don’t know what is.”  
   
   
“I was reading in coffee shops before it became the ‘cool’ thing to do,” David blusters, still upset by Killian’s accusation.  
   
   
And Killian laughs. Loud and unselfconsciously, his head tipped back. It makes David’s own lips twitch, but he sets them in a firm, displeased line.  
   
   
“Oh fuck me, if that doesn’t just make you king of the hipsters,” Killian says, still chuckling.  
   
   
David shoves Killian’s feet off his lap petulantly and Killian laughs again.  
   
   
“Aw come on, love, you know I like it,” he insists earnestly. “You’re cute with your coffee and your plaid and your nonconformist ways.” He grins at David in what he clearly thinks is a winning fashion, and David narrows his eyes at him as he stands to go refill his coffee.  
   
   
Killian catches him around the waist as he passes, pulling David down into his lap. David starts to protest, but acquiesces quickly. Killian reaches up to kiss him and David wraps his arms around his neck. He parts Killian’s lips with his tongue, and the kiss soon becomes one not suitable for a public setting.  
   
   
Killian groans into it slightly, running a hand up David’s thigh. “I take it back,” he mumbles against David’s mouth, sucking on his bottom lip. “You’re not a hipster. No hipster is this fucking hot.”   
   
   
“Damn straight,” David murmurs back, smiling when Killian laughs in reply. He deepens the kiss again, and Killian moans.  
   
   
“Let’s go home,” Killian suggests in a lustful tone, but before David can agree, Ruby makes her reappearance.  
   
   
“Don’t even think about it,” she says firmly. “And David, get up. This is a respectable place. Honestly.”  
   
   
David laughs as he reluctantly slides off Killian’ lap, Killian’s hands staying on him until he steps away. He grabs his forgotten mug and heads for the counter, feeling Killian’s eyes on him. He glances over his shoulder with a quelling look, but Killian just grins, eyes drifting down David’s body before slowly working their way back up. He licks his lips suggestively and David blushes.   
   
   
“Killian, you stop corrupting David,” Ruby shoots at him when she notices the way he’s looking at David. “He never used to cause trouble like this.”  
   
   
Killian raises an eyebrow at her imperiously. “I’m sorry, but aren’t you the very one who told me to ‘shake David out of his routine existence’? And now that I have, all you can do is complain.” He stands and walks to the counter, wrapping his arms around David’s waist and sticking his tongue in his ear. David reaches up to swat him with a laugh as Killian continues, “Besides, I rather think Dave enjoys my corruption.”  
   
   
Ruby gives David a longsuffering look at the hated nickname. “I hate to break it to you, David, but your boyfriend is an ass.”  
   
   
David grins back her. “Yeah, I know.” Killian pinches him with an offended noise, and David looks down into those beautiful blue eyes. The eyes that started this whole thing.  
   
   
“But he’s mine.”   
   
   
Killian’s perfect smile fills David’s view as he leans down for another kiss.


End file.
